


The Blue Crew

by RegalMisfortune



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Cathar Smuggler, Chiss Sith Warrior, Darth Occlus - Freeform, Extremely loose with canon, Just not in the way he expected, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quinn is finally getting the chance to leave Balmorra, Sith Pureblood Sith Warrior, Slow Burn, This is mostly writing practice to get me motivated during writer's blocks, Zivilus is a mess and Quinn is Clueless that is all, also mostly writing this for a friend but we can be friends too and read this disaster together, but most will play rather important roles tbh, female sith warrior is also a sith assassin who got stuck playing warrior because FUCK BARAS, i guess this will constitute as such?, if even briefly, if i get to it, only present briefly at the current time, other classes will appear as story progresses, relationship is end goal- or sHOULD BE but these idiots never listen, slowly getting other classes into this, the Apprentices team up occasionally to muck up Baras' shenanigans, there is a lot of plotting planned i just havent gotten to it yet, what the fuck is canon it is a mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalMisfortune/pseuds/RegalMisfortune
Summary: Balmorra was a planet where unruly soldiers were sent to in order to disappear off the radar of their superiors' for awhile. A few months was common, a year or two if one was particularly displeased with them. As for Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, he disregarded the thought of ever leaving the planet alive after four years. Darth Baras kept him there for a reason, obviously he was still needed. But then the Sith Lord's apprentice came and went, and Quinn believed he was facing the end of the line. Until a strange frequency was picked up, and with it bringing a pair of blue aliens that swept Quinn along for the wildest ride of his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 1-3 were written and posted in block. Please excuse all errors, as I did not proof-read before posting and it is so late in the evening that words are starting to blur together.

Balmorra was a battle-scarred, Colicoid-infested, wasted potential bit of floating rock in space according to anyone who stepped foot on the wretched planet. At one point perhaps it was beautiful, industry carved out of the earth and society thriving. But then the Great Galactic War happened, Imperials and Republic clashed, tearing up the lithosphere with all the firepower they could muster. The Republic retreated, the Imperials advanced, and with the signing of the Treaty of Coruscant, the fighting should have ended at that with the Imperials reigning victorious over the war-torn planet.

Of course, luck never favored the victors, as the remnants of local militants rose out of the ashes of the Great War to stroke the fires of conflict against the Imperials their own way. They had unofficial help from the Republic, naturally, but nothing entirely concrete nor important enough to rekindle another war with the opposing faction. Smoldering, perhaps, another piece of gathered fuel for the future.

Ten years have gone by since the War ended, and Balmorra’s resistance had yet to be quelled. The land remained torn, the populace bitter, and the Imperials who were rightful owners of the planet were stuck trying to scrape the never-ceasing theoretical muck off the surface. A decade ago it seemed like an achievable goal, but now the planet was used for two things only: hand-on battle experience for new recruits in a reasonably contained environment, and to make unwanted soldiers and officers to disappear in the nicest- or the worst- sense, depending on who was asked.

Turn-over rate was cosmically high among the ranks, fresh-eyed recruits, still wet behind the ears of the Academy spent as little as a month on the surface, facing the true facts of war and hardening their weaker stomachs before they were patted on the back and shipped off to their new assignments. Most would make if off planet alive- most of their missions the officers tried to keep close to Sobrik in a subtle act of heart. _Make it back to space alive, see that you do what we cannot_ _here on this wretched planet._

Officers, as well, had a high turn-over, but the higher in rank one was, the likelihood of them making it to a new assignment off planet decreased tenfold with every additional badge. Their orders were increasingly ludicrous, many marching off to their deaths in the wastelands that was Balmorra. The ones who were kept close to base were ones that had some hope of regaining favor with the brass or find luck in impressing the occasional Sith in providing a good word for them. But Sith were few and far between, too unpredictable to rely on in any case, and so the grind to simply grasp the right coattails to tug on dragged on.

If anyone who deserved the ascension off Balmorra out of everyone, it was Lieutenant Malavai Quinn. He had been one of the first, if not _the_ first officer who had been added to the blacklist that had become Balmorra’s Imperial occupation. He had been a young, spry twenty-year old when he first set foot onto the planet three months after the Treaty of Coruscant, four months after the Battle of Druckenwell. Now he was just shy of thirty, still spry, but Balmorra wears even the new recruits- late teenagers at their youngest- down to their cores. Perhaps the planet was sucking the life out of them in payment for tearing the surface asunder with their constant fighting with the locals, but that was just cantina gossip.

For Quinn, that particular gossip claimed that the planet had sucked all the humor out of him. He was strict and firm as all officers should, but he was so down-to-the-letter that one drunken recruit asked another officer if he had ate nothing but the rulebook.

But then again, most new recruits did not know that Lieutenant Quinn had been stationed on Balmorra for a decade, never rising in rank, only leaving once for a mandatory visit back to Kaas City some seven years ago. Every higher ranking officer that worked with him had commended his tactical wit and firm hand to keep his little sphere of influence running at maximum capacity even with the constant fluctuation of staff. But every request of promotion was shot down, and every mention of a transfer was “out of the question”. The older officers who had served through the Great War knew the reason why, a soft whisper of sympathy and “you deserve better” spoken behind closed doors, but to the newer, younger soldiers, they easily picked up that something _very high_ on the ladder was not happy with Quinn to keep him rooted to Balmorra despite how efficient he ran his men and how his successes far exceeded his losses to the point where his defeats were almost negligible.

As for Quinn, he himself knew everything that lead up to this point. Disobeying a direct order from a Moff because he _knew_ how to turn the tide of the battle, he _knew_ the risks of doing so, but did them anyway because _it was for the Empire’s best interest_. Moff Broysc didn’t see it that way, and while Quinn also knew that Broysc would take all the claim of victory for himself, as expected, he had been completely blindsided by the fact that the Moff had him court marshalled and had it handled _by the Sith_ because “he HAS to be a traitor!”.

Four months later after his fateful choice, Quinn found himself surprisingly alive and on Balmorra’s rugged terrain, secretly serving under Darth Baras into feeding him information about the new recruits, the tasks other Sith Lords who occasionally appeared on the planet, taking stock of everyone’s lives for the Sith. As a mere Imperial, he never questioned it, and dutifully sent Baras report after report, hoping that his careful work would get him off the wretched planet in a year or two.

Two became four, then six, then eight, and now on his tenth year, Quinn had given up the notion of him ever leaving the planet alive. There had to be something important that would keep him here, even as the demands from the Sith Lord faded to occasional observations of Sith activities. There was something he was missing, he was certain, and that grim potential of failure became personal as Quinn kept the reports flowing, leaving no detail out of the lines upon lines he sent to the Darth. But nothing, nothing had come out of it.

Quinn kept his jaw get in determination as he plowed on, day after day of soldiers leaving his service and new taking their places. Some stayed for a few months longer than intended, but they too, eventually left. He memorized every face that lingered, heart cooling as he saluted every body bag that came back carrying the ones who had been trapped onto this planet just like he was in order to keep it from cracking. There was no time to wallow in self-pity, worrying over when his time would come when he too was stuffed into a bag and sent on his way to forever be forgotten. No one stayed on Balmorra for longer than two years unless it was a death sentence, and Quinn was the most experienced of them all with a decade of service on this ruined planet.

There was one day that had gotten hope to poke its head out of the frozen ground of his heart when Darth Baras contacted him- his apprentice was coming, serve and observe. Sobrik was rarely graced with the presence of a Sith, and perhaps this, _this_ was his chance to finally show that he was loyal to Baras, to the Empire, that he was worth more than the dust that clung to his polished boots.

The apprentice came, all deadly elegance and glinting jewelry from the rings up the bridge of her nose and hooked into the ridges of her brow. The _Sith_ apprentice was cool and collected with robes as black as the depths of space, piercing golden eyes following him as he went over the details of the location of her mission. She was receptive of information, Quinn was glad to note, but she favored little of his opinion and left with a simple flick of her robe around the corner, leaving the Lieutenant to all but collapse into his chair as the overbearing, predatory air followed the woman out the door.

He didn’t think he could ever get use to a Sith presence.

He never asked for her name, and she never provided it, even as her mission from Darth Baras had her sweeping from one end of Balmorra to the other in a whirlwind of dust and calamity with him providing some detail of the area along the way. She was a silent killer, efficient and deadly as she brought all that forcibly got into her way to their knees.

And when the dust settled, and a Jedi captured and claimed for Baras’ own use, her cool tone seemed to echo in his head as she spoke to her lord in a tone that hinted at far more than her words:

_“He was useful enough.”_

Quinn had been unnecessary. He could read between the lines, the unspoken words sinking heavy into his core, crushing the little hope that had sprouted. Outwardly he expressed nothing, suppressing his feelings and locking them up tightly as the apprentice left and Darth Baras off-handedly told him to send his report. _As soon as possible_ was left unsaid, but Quinn bowed all the same and immediately went to work, squashing down whatever unruly emotion that tried to rear its ugly head in his writing. Stay impersonal, professional.

Dropping himself into bed that night and away from prying eyes, all the buried emotions came tumbling out as he hid his face under a pillow. Although the mission was a success, Quinn has personally failed, and he _knew_ what Sith did to those who disappointed them. It was only a matter of time before Darth Baras decided that Quinn was a loose end that needed to be taken care of. Any Sith’s opinion was worth more than the entire Imperial Fleet- he could not refute or argue against Baras’ apprentice in her opinion of his usefulness.

His time on Balmorra was going to end as a failure.

It had been months since then, and Quinn had settled quickly back to normalcy, or as normal as one living on Balmorra can get. Recruits come and go, another poor soldier gets reassigned to the planet, angry from the recent demotion, a few leave in the giddiness of a new platoon somewhere in space, although those were outnumbered by the ones who left in black bags and solemn vows.

Lieutenant Quinn’s little area of Sobrik was relatively quiet, a pattern that had followed them that week. The network of spies and instruments failed to have pick up anything worth noting, but the foreboding sense of something coming had settled upon all of them. When the Resistance was quiet, it meant they were plotting something nefarious.

Quinn stood with hands clasped together behind his back, overseeing his men working on the terminals, soft murmurs from one to another the only sound present other than the hum of machinery and the taps of fingers as they worked. He favored in personally looking over the situation on weeks like these, where the silence of the opposing forces became too suspicious to be kept working in his office. Most of the men under his orders were new, fresh-eyed Privates and Specialists in entirety. Most of the Ensign ranks had been shipped out, including the poor fellow who had faced his ire on the same day the Sith came. Quinn silently wished the lad well- disregarding his words of being able to shoot the Ensign without a second thought because of his error. The boy was young, hopefully Quinn’s comment would settle some sense into the lad.

Blue eyes settled down onto a Corporal in a far corner, a headset over his ears and fingers slowly adjusting a knob on the terminal he was at. Corporal Hilio was the next highest in rank after the Lieutenant himself. He had been here for almost two months now, and quickly became the go-to person for intercepting frequencies. Quinn approved of the young man- slightly older in his joining of the Imperial forces in his twenties, but was quickly ascending over the youths. His dossier read that he served in a local military on his home planet for two years before setting his sights on the greater military force. He was efficient, knowing not to toe the line, and had already shed off the rose-colored lenses of war that the younger recruits wore.

Hilio’s lips pressed thinly, brow scrunching as Quinn observed, the deft fingers turning back the dial a hair’s width by hair’s width, the frown creeping further down.

Something was up.

Fingers unthreading from behind his back, Quinn stepped with calm purpose towards the Corporal’s station, careful to be at least be seen in the corner of the younger man’s eye as he leaned down, holding himself up by a hand on the back of the chair.

“Is something wrong?” Quinn murmured as Hilio lifted one side of the headset off his ear, turning his head partially towards the Lieutenant to show that he was not ignoring him while simultaneously working on his terminal.

“A new signal popped up where there hadn’t been any before, sir” Hilio replied just as softly, not wanting to disturb the other soldiers despite the fact that they had already honed one eye or ear in on the pair as soon as Quinn moved for him. “I caught the end of the conversation a few days ago, but it disappeared as soon as it arose so I wrote it off as background chatter in the report. The signal is different but… I recognize these voices from before.”

A frown of his own formed on Quinn’s face, lifting a hand up in silent demand to listen. Hilio fished the headset off his own head to give to his superior officer, turning fully to Quinn as he slipped the headset over his ears to pick up on the blathering conversation on the other end.

“-And then they ran off with his trousers!” the voice cackled, the pitch and tone possibly female. The slight lilt in her words were close to that of Huttese- not a Balmorran or Imperial, then. Republic was highly doubtful too, not with that conversation. Bounty Hunters?

A low chuckle reverberated through the headset, too low to be the first speaker.

“As much as I love hearing how your past criminal activities have left a slaver with one less pair of pants, I’d rather if you sped up on cracking that code before I get bugs in my own pants.”

This second voice was lower, male, not the accent of Dromund Kaas that most Imperials possessed, but it was familiar to Quinn. He wracked his brain to try to piece where the accent was from while the loud sound of a raspberry being blown by the female washed over his ears.

“Give me a second, Twinkle-Toes, my butt is going as fast as it can.”

“Twinkle-Toes?” the male speaker inquired, humor lacing his words. Oddly, the tone clicked something on in Quinn’s head, causing him to jerk slightly in surprise.

Chiss! The accent belonged to a Chiss! The realization only made the conversation even more confusing. The Chiss were the only species that had aligned with the Empire officially, the mysterious aliens giving little and leaving most of the loyal subject of the Empire in speculation. Almost all the Chiss that joined the military ended up on Hoth due to their race thriving on their icy home planet of Csilla, and even then they were far and few between. The subject was only briefly brushed over at the Academy: a proud, intelligent species that were more useful in subterfuge than outright combat. That was why most who joined the military went into Intelligence rather than joining a battalion or working within the Fleet, if they hadn’t been stuck on Hoth. He himself had never met a Chiss personally, although heard recordings of them in the past, and he was certain that the rumor of a Chiss on Balmorra would’ve been spread like wildfire. He was also certain that no Chiss had ever been sighted in joining the Republic, so either there was an unknown Agent working on Balmorra, or there was a rogue, although that was also very slim.

A quick lean-over to the next station to whisper to the Private there to call in on the docking information sent the other soldiers murmuring softly in confusion to each other as the Private rose and disappeared from the room to make the call. If there was, in fact, a Chiss Agent, he would know soon enough. His companion, however, was still a mystery, but would prove useful in assisting in digging out the truth. A Chiss with a female companion would be very hard not to spot even by the laziest of docking agents.

Focusing back on the chatter within the headset, Quinn suppressed a frown as the conversation fell to soft grumbling from the female, followed by several loud bangs- what he could only assume was someone’s foot kicking a terminal.

“Got it!” came the cheerful reply, only for it to be followed by even louder cursing and the deafening screech that was definitely from a Colicoid. “FUCK!”

“Language!”

“I will watch my language when I’m not on a giant bug’s menu, Mr. Blue-butt!”

A flurry of blaster fire and screeching continued for a painful minute, Quinn having to lift the headset off a little ways from his ears. He ignored the whispered “Sirs?” from Hilio and a few others who watched in concern, instead focusing on the cursing from the female before everything fall silent.

“The frequency shifted, sir,” Hilio answered the unspoken question that Quinn conveyed to the man with a look, the headset pulling away from his head. “They might have a Wandering Frequency for confusion to anyone who accidentally pick it up. Possibly for half an hour before switching. Maybe forty-five.”

“Find it again, Corporal,” Quinn ordered, returning the headset to Hilio and giving the rest of the soldiers a cold look that sent them scurrying back to work. “And send all recordings of their conversations to me.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn makes contact with the pair on the other end of the frequency. Walls are not fun to run into at Force Sprint velocities.

The weeks that followed revealed much, but at the same time very little about the Chiss and his companion. It only took two days for Corporal Hilio to confirm that they were, in fact, using a Wandering Frequency. They would stay on for thirty-five minutes and fourteen seconds before the signal flitted away and had to be relocated. A week proved a pattern, and the next Hilio could easily track them within a minute of it being changed.

The docking agents proved useless, having no hint of a Chiss even being near Balmorra in passing. Inquiries to higher ranking official confirmed that no Chiss of Imperial rank has stepped foot onto the planet, including Agents, as it would be too dangerous and noticeable with their hereditary blue complexion.

Listening to the recordings of the strange chatter occupied Quinn late into the night, careful to make note everything that seemed important. He even sent a report of the strange discovery to Darth Baras, but like all his other reports, they went unquestioned and unpressing for more details.

The female’s name was Vette, and a Twi’lek, or he assumed based on the mention of “don’t get your lekku in a twist” from the Chiss. She was a sassy thing, her comments often making Quinn frown and waiting for her companion to snap. But the male simply let her chatter wash over him with an air of amusement, not bothered by the jokes and numerous, unbecoming nicknames she had provided him with.

The Chiss himself also had a mouth on him, popping up out of nowhere to sideswipe the Twi’lek into gaping and splutters. He never seemed to get angry or frustrated, or at least not with his companion. He had gotten furious with a speeder, however, falling entirely silent for almost a minute that caused Vette to hesitantly call after him before the sound of twisting and cracking metal screeched into being.

Quinn wasn’t sure what had happened, but he knew that the speeder would no longer be in function.

The radio chatter appeared to cease from time to time, but not because of a switch in frequency, but by being shut off completely. It usually was only ten, fifteen, twenty minutes before it came back on again, but every once in awhile it would turn off and stay that was for a few days. Typically this happened shortly after one of them mentioned of returning to “Little Miss Blue”, but who or what that was remained a mystery.

Corporal Hilio was also successful in tracking the frequency down on the planet surface with the help of some of the Ensigns. It took about ten minutes to relocate during a switch, but it was enough to see where the pair was going.

Quinn stared, perplexed at the map before him, little dots indicating where the signal originated from and when. They were just as wandering as their frequency was, popping in and out of Resistance and Imperial territory, then on the other side of the damned planet. They were going through old factories and Colicoid-infested land with nary a second thought. Their chatter typically held nothing of note of what they were doing specifically, too idle in their words to be useful. Perhaps they did it on purpose, in case their frequency was picked up.

That would explain why the Chiss remained so illusive while Quinn knew more about his travel companion. The Twi’lek called the other alien all sorts of nicknames, but the only thing that appeared to be worth mentioning was “Z”, or “Zee”. No teasing rank, no curse of his occupation. Just a letter- or was it a name? Quinn doubted it. Chiss favored long, complicated names for the most part, or at least that’s what a lot of holobooks and reports he’d read through contained.

Despite the mystery of the Chiss and his companion, there was actual work to be done. Resistance to listen in on, supply runs to ransack. But the Resistance were eerily silent- they were plotting something big, Quinn could feel it in his bones.

It came with a frantic holocall that was cut off as quickly as it connected from Captain Jarrow that one of his men came running into his office with, disturbing him from the puzzle of the Chiss and his wayward companion.

Captain Jarrow’s squad had been a simple patrol through a previously searched deteriorating factory that had gone entirely awry when Resistance fighters came barreling out of nowhere and pinned them down inside. There were too far away to be helped immediately by Imperial force, and his squad consisted almost entirely of fresh Privates. They would be decimated before any Imperial backup could get to the area.

Quinn stood in the chaos that was his little sphere of influence, his men scrambling to try to find someone, anyone, a stray squad, a Sith, even a Bounty Hunter who would want a few credits to assist the group. It should have been an easy run for them, the patrol far too commonly paced for any sort of attack, but the Resistance had gotten ballsy. Something or someone had stirred them up, and they were like someone kicked a Colicoid nest in the way they just swarmed with renewed vigor. It settled like something sour in Quinn’s stomach as he set eyes to one man in the sea of bodies, a plan quickly forming in his head.

“Corporal Hilios,” Quinn stated suddenly, his commanding voice calling over the din and causing his men to snap into place, frozen as Hilios quickly spun in his seat, headset off one ear.

“Are the Chiss and his companion near the area?” It was a risk, but it was damned worth it. Captain Jarrow was a decent soldier, and those Privates did not need to face their end so quickly at the hands of some scrupulous renegades. If no Imperial soldiers were in the area, the only one who could potentially help was a possible Imperial asset of unknown integrity. At least he was certain that the Chiss was no ‘Pub.

As if reading his mind, Hilios and Ensign Lake, a ‘borrowed’ asset from another Lieutenant on the other side of Sobrik, assisted the Corporal in pinpointed the frequencies jerked back into action, hands flicking over screens and tapping at buttons in a flurry of fingers.

“They are within distance!” Lake called over his shoulder, hopeful eyes turning from Quinn to Hilios as the man’s serious gaze twisted at the dials of his station before hooking up a different headset beside his own.

“I can connect you to them in thirty seconds, sir.”

Without missing a beat, Quinn was by the Corporal’s side, plucking the second headset and simply putting one side to his ear, the mic close to his lips as Hilios fiddled with a few more buttons. The conversation on the other end was light, as if they knew nothing of the sudden outbreak of battle so close to them. Quinn’s lips turned into a serious frown as Hilios gave him a quiet gesture that he was sharing the same frequency as they.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he began, his voice firm as the Twi’lek’s chatter suddenly stopped, perhaps in shock at the third voice interceding. “This is Lieutenant Quinn of the Imperial military stationed in Sobrik. There is an incident unfolding just west of your location, and your assistance is crucial.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, Quinn set his jaw in determination to try every trick in the book to persuade these two to assist before the entire team was gunned down, but there had been no need to, as the accented voice of the Chiss rumbled into his ear.

“Send me the coordinates.”

No more information of what was happening, or why, just directions. Quinn was secretly relieved, sending out the Captain’s location with rapid succession before their communications were turned off.

With both eyes and ears damaged in the area, Quinn’s team sat on the edges of their seat as the minutes ticked by, anxiously tapping at their terminals for some sort of news. Even other soldiers from other squads came loitering at the edges, high and low ranks whispering to each other and to Quinn about the situation. After all, Quinn was the brain of the entirety of Sobrik, even if it was an unofficial title that everyone over time decided to simply leave out of their reports because it apparently sent some commanding officers into a tizzy- ones with names far too familiar to Quinn when questioned.

Still, if anyone was to know anything first, it was Quinn and his team.

“I see them!” came a sudden squeal from the far wall, a Private manning one of the camera stations, easily flicking across the screens to keep up with them. There was a slight mad scuffle towards the terminal, Quinn leaning over the young woman’s chair to watch, too focused to even yell at the intrusion of soldiers who were definitely not men under his command who joined in to watch.

There were two speeders that flitted across the screen, the first piloted by Captain Jarrow, much to the relief of everyone in the room who could recognize that cropped hair and scarred arms. He was sharing it with four Privates in various states of health, all clinging desperately to one another in hopes not to slide off the end of something that was only meant to carry one, maybe two people, not five. The second that followed close behind held _seven_ , piloted by a blue-skinned Twi’lek girl who was almost pressed over the handles to make room, even as two braver Privates clung to either side of the speeder that was most definitely struggling to support all their weight as it banged and bumped into the ground at every dip. The pair held on by one arm and the grasp of the others, the other arm occupied by blasters that fired back behind them in response to the bolts that followed after them through the cloud of dust.

And then, in the dust of the speeders, a blur came _sprinting_ through the clouds, all dark and foreboding as it flitted from one camera’s sight to the other, chasing after the speeders at impossible speed ahead of the pursuit that followed after them with a rain of firepower. Quinn noted with a jolt that they were also _carrying_ something, or rather, someone, their arms pinned too close to their body and the run slightly awkward despite the unnatural dead sprint they were doing and seeming to avoid all the shots that flew by them from both in front and from behind without breaking stride. It was hard to determine what they looked like, but Quinn was certain that it was the Chiss. And the only thing he could think of that would allow anyone to run at the near same speed as a _speeder_ was a _Force-user_.

There was a sudden surge of bodies as people began to realize that there were injured men on the way back and _almost back to Sobrik_ with the enemy on their heels, the mass of soldiers shouting and running towards the entrance of the town to meet up with their comrades and defend the town. Quinn had followed suit after barking orders to his men to keep watch and make sure to note any Resistance fighters who followed pursuit other than the initial charge.

The roar of engines grew louder as the machines rounded into view, Captain Jarrow’s bike twisting sideways to a halt as it breached the walls, followed closely by the Twi’lek’s whose bike screeched across the ground under the weight of the extra passengers. In their wake, a dark shadow formed in the cloud of dust before a body shot out. The runner curled around the passenger in their arms as they dropped into a slide across the ground past the soldiers’ feet, trying to slow themselves down fast enough before they ran face-first into a wall, bits of armor and clothing tearing off and disappearing under dust and gravel . They were only marginally successful, traveling far too fast even after the attempt of slowing down from avoiding the building completely, only just managing to turn sharply and covering the other in their arms from the damage that was to come. They slammed sideways into the building sickening thunk, both forms slumping motionless in the dirt.

The surge of soldiers filled in the gap in the pair’s wake, ducking behind barricades and blocking the path as they shot down the following Resistance, the militants too blind by the dust cloud in the trail of their targets to see how dangerously close to Sobrik they had gotten until they fell under blaster fire.

Quinn treated the screams of dying men as if they were simply birds on a daily walk, long hurried strides around the two speeders and towards the crumpled pair by the building. Other medics were taking care of Captain Jarrow and his men, the Twi’lek trying to pry herself off the handles of the speeder while at the same time attempting not to let the Private who was slumped over her in an unconscious stupor from collapsing face first into the dirt.

Another medic met him at the forms on the ground, even as one groaned. Up close, Quinn could finally confirm that, under the dust and grime, the solid red eyes that blinked slowly up at him definitely belonged to a Chiss. The other medic peeled the unconscious, bleeding soldier out of the Chiss’ grasp as Quinn went to scan the alien for the extent of his injures, but the device was weakly pushed away from him by a dust and blood covered hand.

“’m up,” the Chiss slurred, using the wall to pull himself up to shaking legs. The protest that formed in Quinn’s mind about how not to aggravate his injures by moving died in his throat as the eerie red eyes focused onto him, widening as if seeing clearly for the first time. Perhaps he was, after slamming head first into a wall.

“Your eyes are bluer than I am,” came the slightly startled reply. Everything seemed to grind to a halt for a heartbeat at that as the pair stared at each other, Quinn’s bewilderment matching the Chiss’ awed expression. It was broken in the next heartbeat by the red eyes rolling into the back of his head and the Chiss slumping forward, collapsing into Quinn’s reaching arms in a wild bid to keep the alien from further head trauma.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all odds, he really is a Sith. Quinn wished that would help him sleep at night.

“You _swooned_!” Vette laughed, kicking her feet up onto the cot. “You admired his looks and promptly swooned!”

The Chiss, scrubbed clean and bed-ridden as the kolto settled in did his best to look abashed, scratching the back of his neck with a slight purple hue creeping across his cheeks.

Quinn watched the pair from the shadow of the doorway, finding himself unwilling to disturb them and to merely watch at a closer distance of the pair’s interactions. The Twi’lek had very minor injuries- shallow scrapes and bruises that she had waved off the one medic who had decided to try to extend some sort of peace between the entirely human Imperial populace and the lone alien that was conscious. Twi’leks were mostly seen around in their society as slaves, and the ones that weren’t were most likely up to no good or were in prison awaiting to be shipped off to work their sentence in the factories.  It wasn’t certain if she was a slave or a runaway one, but despite this, she did help save an entire squad of wet-eared Privates, over half of whom had to spend a few days in the med bay and two who had to float in the kolto tanks for extensive periods of time due to the severity of their injuries in an adjacent wing, so most soldiers tried to keep some semblance of decency if they ran into her.

Vette was smarter than she looked, however, and had spent most of the time sat beside the Chiss’ bedside, which had been positioned in the quieter section of the med bay. Quinn wanted to label him as her master, but he wasn’t sure if Chiss even kept slaves, and the past conversations between them had been far too friendly to be any normal master-slave relationship.

The other blue alien was an even bigger mystery, even more so in person than he had when he was just a voice on a wandering comm channel. Clean of dust, his skin was more on the greyer side of blue, darker than the lighter tones of his Twi’lek companion. His hair was swept back, so deep in the color that it was nearing black in certain lighting, long enough that he threaded his fingers through it to comb it while Vette continued to heckle him. There was a smattering of freckles that splashed across his cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose, but Quinn had only noticed those when he had been busy cleaning off his face to assess a mark over his right eye that was visible even under the dirt and grime, which had turned out to be an old scar that was only noticeable if one was looking for it. Scars did not stand out as well on Chiss skin as they did on humans, it appeared, the blue just a few shades darker than their normal complexion. Most would just pass it off as the trick of the light, and Quinn nearly had until he had ran a finger over the groove with a feathery touch to see if it was just more dirt.

What made no sense to Quinn was that the Chiss had most definitely used the Force. No one else could have kept within distance of a speeder at full throttle by foot. His legs definitely showed the wear and tear of his actions, almost tearing his muscles into permanent lameness. A concussion, a dislocated shoulder, severe abrasions along his legs and side- it was a wonder there hadn’t been any more damage to him. He was only taller than Quinn himself by a handful of centimeters, but he was much leaner, his muscles toned in not a traditional way of soldiering through. But there had been no lightsaber to be found on his person, and both he and his companion had been wearing rugged bits of cloth that may have been snitched from a surviving local, nothing a Sith or even a Jedi would be caught wearing.

He had no further clues to this conundrum that was the nameless Chiss who sat in the med bay, awake for the first time in days and appearing much better than before.

 “Vette, I did not swoon,” the Chiss’ voice chided, drawing Quinn back to the conversation between the two blue aliens. “I had a severe concussion and exhausted. I shouldn’t have gotten up to begin with.”

“But you did, and you swooned,” Vette grinned, wiggling the toes of her boots at the man, gently prodding him in an area that wasn’t covered in bandages and kolto. “Fell right into the arms of a stick-up-the-butt Imperial!” She made a faux gag as the Chiss shook his head.

Quinn froze as the eerie solid red turned his way, a quirk of a smile ghosting the corners of the alien’s lips, but made no move to point out that said “stick-up-the-butt Imperial” was standing in the doorway and getting every word that fell from the mouthy Twi’lek, who just kept piling it on.

“ _I’ve_ seen him, comes in here all stiff and pompous-“

“Oh, your vocabulary is expanding!”

“Shut up!” Here she whacked him in the arm, only a slight flicker of pity crossing her face as he winced, but seeing the smile that crept higher and higher only made her sniff indignantly.

“All these Imperials are stuffy and boring! Even if they did give me better threads!” Vette tugged on the front of her tunic, the closest thing anyone in Sobrik could dig up that was clean but unoffensive for a Twi’lek to be wearing. Non-military wear were in short supply when you were nothing but a dumping ground for troublemakers and new recruits.

“I dunno, I think my top is growing on me,” the Chiss replied, patting his bandaged torso with soft appreciation. “Contours my pectorals quite nicely. I think the Imperials you are tearing your imaginary hair out over have some nice taste in fashion.”

“ _Boring_ fashion, if you ask me,” Vette huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “Just like their personalities.”

Deciding it was time to make his presence known to both occupants of the room before Vette said something that would definitely call him to action in reprimand, Quinn cleared his throat, causing the Twi’lek to turn so quickly in her chair that she nearly fell off it, feet sliding off the cot and landed with a thump on the floor.

The look of utter dread on her face almost made Quinn smile. Almost.

“Pardon the interruption,” Quinn answered smoothly, stepping into the room with purpose as if he hadn’t been standing in the doorway for the past ten minutes. “I am to check on the patient.”

Patient- the only word that he could use to describe the Chiss. Not a name, a rank or title, and he certainly couldn’t call him “the alien” when the Twi’lek herself was also present. So patient it was, as Vette made a face and got up, saying something about scrounging up food from the cantina and if the Chiss wanted any before she flounced out the same door Quinn just walked in from.

“Don’t mind her,” the Chiss replied, a knowing smile on his lips as he settled back against the cot as Quinn approached. “She’s got a chip in her shoulder for someone as young as she.”

Quinn simply hummed, not wanting to talk of the Twi’lek as he did his scans, reading the information recording on the datapad before him with pursed lips. The injuries were healing much faster than any he had seen. The man would be perfectly fine by morning. Perhaps it was the Force; Quinn had seen first-hand how terrible and wonderful the Force could be if used by the right person. Sometimes his left hand still shook at the memories if he dwelled on them too long, and so he simply didn’t, shoving them far into the dark recesses of his mind.

“Are you a Force-User?”

There was no point in beating it around the bush, as Quinn lowered the datapad to observe the Chiss with a blank expression. The truth was that it would be a serious offence if the Chiss was and hadn’t been picked up by the Sith. Worse yet if he really was a Jedi, but the possibilities of that were one in a million.

“Yes.” The answer came so simply that it made Quinn blink, not expecting the direct answer but did not let it show.

The Chiss merely smiled up at Quinn, offering out a hand to the Imperial with an amused glint in his eye.

“Apprentice Zivilus of Darth Baras.”

 _Darth Baras_. The very mention of the name almost made Quinn drop the datapad in shock. It had been months since he had heard from the Sith, diligently sending him report after report like he always had, even after the evident dismissal from his _other_ apprentice.

“I was unaware that Darth Baras had an apprentice.” Another apprentice, but Quinn knew when to keep information to his chest until the right time to show his hand. If Darth Baras never mentioned to Quinn about this second apprentice, that meant either Quinn wasn’t meant to know, or that he was meant to know by being given his rightful execution as a loose end due to his failure. And the Chiss, this _Zivilus_ , felt nothing like the oppressive presence that was Lord Baras’s _other_ apprentice. If Quinn hadn’t personally seen Zivilus run as fast as a speeder and heal at this rate, he would have dismissed the very thought of the Chiss being a Sith. Alien Sith were… practically non-existent, humans and _Sith_ being the most dominate and superior- both as Sith and as loyal servants of the Empire.

While Chiss were sworn to the Empire, they weren’t on the same steps as humans or _Sith_.

But here was one, smiling as bright as day after claiming to be an apprentice to Darth Baras.

“Yes, well, he tends to keep a lot of secrets now, doesn’t he? Half the time I don’t even know what he wants from me until I’m five minutes out.” He had set his hand down onto his lap, unbothered by the lack of acceptance of it from Quinn. “You’re one of his informants, aren’t you? Sarvoice mentioned you, a… Lieutenant Quinn, correct?”

Quinn blinked, putting as much effort as he could into not having his brows furrow at the flippant, cheerful way that the Zivilus spoke, it was as if he didn’t have a care in the galaxy. Maybe the concussion had rattled something that the scan couldn’t pick up? No, he really shouldn’t think of such things about a Sith, even one as strange as this one.

“Sarvoice is who… my lord?” he asked instead, tacking the title on at the last minute after the cold sense of dread seeped into his core that _this was a Sith and he hadn’t been properly addressing him_ , _even if he didn’t know it and still couldn’t quite believe it._

“Oh! She’s the “scary Sith-Sith” as Vette calls her!” Zivilus replied, beaming despite the fact that Quinn had once again, ignored his question. It made Quinn increasingly uneasy, feeling more and more that he had walked right into some sort of trap. He had been showing such blatant disregard to the Sith before him, and yet the man didn’t even twitch!

But his words did prove something- that this apprentice did know about Darth Baras’ other apprentice, and Zivilus knew about her enough to confirm that yes, this wasn’t a joke at all, and that the Chiss was most definitely a Sith.

Quinn murmured a soft “I see, my lord,” as he drew his attention back to the datapad, going through the medical information in order to take the minute to internally collect himself. “Well, my lord, you should be fit for duty by tomorrow morning.” Where he personally hoped to see without the Chiss Sith cutting his throat in the middle of the night for his insolence.

There was a soft brush against the knuckles holding onto the datapad, unaware that he had been gripping it with a bit more force than necessary. He glanced up over the screen, freezing at the solid, eerie eyes that stared back at him. It was hard to read the expression on the Chiss’ face, but if he had to guess, it was borderline _concern_.

“When’s the last time you got sleep, Lieutenant?” It _was_ concern- Quinn was starting to question the alien’s admittance of being a Sith all over again. Sith were cold and efficient and _cruel_ , like Darth Baras, like his apprentice, like all the lords he had the misfortune of meeting a decade ago. But Zivilus was far more close to the ground than all the other Sith who held themselves rightfully on lofty posts high above the Non Force-Users. Quinn made a mental note to subtly inquire after this apprentice from Lord Baras when he got the chance.

“Recently, my lord,” Quinn replied with cool ease, not showing his thoughts as he lowered the datapad to return the stare with his unreadable expression. The eyes continued to gaze at him, staring into his soul with unblinking sight. It made Quinn uncomfortable, shifting his weight slightly as the Chiss continued to look at him as if staring at him long enough would get him to crack.

Luck was on Quinn’s side, as Vette came back into the room, carrying a tray with two plates in one hand and a bundle in another, her face alight with a brilliant grin. Her presence jostled Zivilus out of his trance, turning those eerie red eyes towards his fellow blue alien companion

“Guess what I found!” the Twi’lek cheered, not even dampened by the presence of an Imperial as she took up the space that Quinn had been occupying after he stepped away as soon as she entered. She set the tray down on the neglected chair and let one end of the bundle of fabric drop and unravel, two hilts rolling out and landing into Zivilus’ lap in a soft puff of dust and sand.

“My lightsabers!”

Well, that answered _that_ question.

 Quinn wasn’t going to get any sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it this far into the story. I know that I know next to nothing about what I'm doing, but I hope you bear with me as I flounder through this story like a fish on land. Any commentary will help!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jarrow and Quinn question Zivilus' sanity. Meanwhile, Quinn gets an offer he cannot refuse.

At 0500 hours, Quinn found himself standing in the doorway of the med bay, the night spent staring restlessly at the ceiling. Now he was staring into the now empty room, devoid of both the Sith and his Twi’lek companion. No one had discharged Zivilus, not by Quinn or any of the other medics- if there had they left it out of the medical report.

His lips thinned at the blatant disregard to procedure, squashing down the fluttering wings of panic that tried to take flight. No, he wasn’t going to worry that the Sith Apprentice that may or may not be there to tie a loose end for Darth Baras was AWOL. A Sith could come and go as they pleased, even one as strange and questionable as the Chiss. At least he took the time to fold the blankets and discard the bandages into the proper waste bin- no, he wasn’t going to further point out the consideration of the Sith when he could be anywhere unchecked!

Turning on his heel, Quinn strode out of the medical ward and out into the early morning light of Sobrik proper, the night shift rounding out for the morning shift as troops grumbled and dragged in and out of their barracks.

“Up and running already, Lieutenant?” Quinn ignored his instinct to jump at the sound of the gruff, gravelly voice beside him, caught unaware of Captain Jarrow as he stepped up beside him. His armor covered the gnarly scars up his arms, but the beginnings of their path peeked out across his bare hands as he turned serious dark eyes to Quinn, a lazy gesture signing him to remain at ease despite the rank difference.

“The Empire does not run on sloth, sir,” Quinn replied easily, although his eyes already drifted away, scanning the soldiers in hopes to spot the too noticeable head of blue and shorter twin tails of lekku.

“Looking for the aliens?” Jarrow’s sharp face softed slightly as the corners of his eyes crinkled, a knowing smile to them despite his lips curved into an unamused frown. “Left about half an hour ago. Said they were bringing “Little Miss Blue” here. Should be back at any moment.”

“Any moment” became “that moment” as the muted hum of a starship low in the air rumbled over Sobrik before they saw it. A _Fury_ -class interceptor shadowed over them briefly as it cruised by, sleek and dangerous as it headed towards the spaceport on the other side of Sobrik. Most soldiers stopped to gawk, never having even _seen_ a _Fury-_ class vessel before. They were almost strictly made for Sith Lords.

“Well, that must be _Miss Blue_ ,” Jarrow broke the pause as the hum faded, the ship lowering into the nearest available docking bay and out of sight. There was a smile now playing on his lips- Quinn pressed his own thinly as he stepped alongside the Captain at the regulated pace and distance as he began to head towards the spaceport.

Who in this great Empire would name a ship “ _Little Miss Blue_?”

Quinn’s distaste for the ship’s name was unfounded, as the dock workers easily pointed them in the direction of the _Fury-_ or _Azure Empyrean_ as its proper hailing was labeled as. A far better name worthy of a _Fury_ -class.

The _Empyrean_ was far more impressive up close as the two officers stepped onto the dock, the sleek silver and black lines with nary a scratch. Very new, or very well-taken care of, Quinn noted, watching the port workers also take a moment to admire the ship before scurrying to work. The last time a _Fury_ was on the docks was when the Darth Baras’ other apprentice, Lord Sarvoice, was present, and the dock hands were more than eager to get to work servicing the outside of the starship. It may be the last time they would be able to, as Sith rarely visited Balmorra. It was far beneath them at this point.

Quinn folded his hands behind his back at parade rest while Captain Jarrow simply folded his arms, a slightly bemused expression working its way onto his stern face as they both watched the ramp lower. It went unnecessary as a familiar head of blue simply jumped from the hatchway to the ground, landing with poise and grace that did not match the black, sinister leather and metal that was his armor. _Sith armor_. The two, cleaned and repaired lightsabers that were hooked to his sides only settled it.

The Chiss was, undoubtedly, a Sith Apprentice.

“Good morning!” Zivilus beamed, giving the two officers a friendly wave that was out of character for someone of his status and fashion. “Good to see you up and kicking, Captain!” The Chiss paused, just a few steps away from them as the solid color of his eyes settled on Quinn with a slight turn of head, the smile fading slightly as he peered at him.

“Didn’t sleep well, Lieutenant?” There was the lace of worry in his voice again. It made Quinn suppress a face upon hearing it, instead fixating the Sith with the same bland, but stern expression he gave everyone.

“Well enough, my lord,” was the easy reply, which roused an unbelieving snort from Jarrow. Four years living on Balmorra led to the Captain knowing more about Quinn than most, being one of the few superior officers that could and would order the Lieutenant around irregardless of the knowledge of him being Darth Baras’ pet soldier. No one knew how much Quinn owed to Darth Baras, and he wasn’t going to let them find out, but having any Sith in contact made most officers either try to get into Quinn’s favor in hopes that it would trickle down to the Sith through his reports, or they avoided him like the plague. Jarrow simply was not impressed by the Sith and their power plays, which what lead him to the wretched planet to begin with. Loyalty to the Empire, yes, but to the Sith, not so much, and because of this let the Captain treat Quinn like any other soldier, much to his relief and ire.

At least he cared nothing about Quinn’s actions that had caused him to wind up on Balmorra for ten years. Actually found it impressive once he somehow managed to dig out bits of his dossier from the grasps of Imperial Intelligence. Someone must’ve owed him a favor, and Darth Baras did fill in the hole in security, but nothing had ever been done with Jarrow.

  _Not yet, at least_ , said the small voice in the back of Quinn’s mind. He promptly ignored it.

“So this is Little Miss Blue,” Jarrow cut in through the awkward silence between Quinn and the Sith, Zivilus blinking before the unnerving red eyes focused onto the Captain. “Impressive.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Zivilus all but gushed, beaming as he turned enough to look at the _Empyrean_. “Miss Blue here is an absolute treasure. Flies through the air with the same ease as a warm knife through butter. I must say that the _Fury_ -class are one of the best starships I’ve ever had the pleasure of piloting.”

The Chiss looked back at the two officers, seeing something on both their faces that Quinn failed to suppress quick enough and Jarrow didn’t bother in hiding.

“You don’t like the nickname,” he laughed, shoulders lifting before falling in an exaggerated sigh. “Vette started it, and it works when you don’t want people to know about the existence of your ship. They just think you’re crazy or it’s a codename for a person. It sort of stuck now, but the _Empyrean_ will always live in my heart.” He made a faux sniffle, wiping away a non-existent tear. Jarrow raised an eyebrow at the action. Quinn internally sighed. Of course the one Sith who didn’t act like a Sith acted like a dramatic fool. A friendly dramatic fool. That may be what he was going for to throw people off, but it was still unnecessary.

“Off the record,” Jarrow murmured to Quinn after the Sith mumbled to himself about Vette not being there by now and went back inside his ship to hunt down his Twi’lek companion. “That alien is nuts.”

“That alien is a Sith Lord, sir,” Quinn corrected, but it didn’t have any of the usual briskness to it like it would for anyone else who dared to skip over titles and insult a superior. It couldn’t be helped that Jarrow was correct in his assessment- Lord Zivilus was positively insane. But somehow he lived through training and became an apprentice to Darth Baras. Perhaps under all the smiles and masks of friendliness was a sharp edge, ready to flash out without warning and without mercy.

The thought sent a shiver up Quinn’s spine, his fingers of his right hand gripping his left with a bit more force to keep his fingers from shaking in that hand. No, now was not the time to have tremors as Zivilus slid down the ramp with a smile- Vette plodding after him looking much like she had just rolled out of bed and was regretting every second of it. She had changed out of the borrowed clothes from around Sobrik, into a getup that made her look more like a treasure-hunter than a slave- if she had been a slave to begin with. Previous records showed no sign of any Twi’lek slave under the name “Vette” ever being sold, at least in Imperial records. She might have been ascertained by the Sith and then given to the Chiss, but there was no way in knowing and Quinn wasn’t about to pry. It was not his place.

“Right!” Zivilus chimed, clapping his hands together as he stood in front of the two Imperials, Vette yawning widely behind him. “I got some supplies I was to deliver here. Already spoke with the customs people, so it’s all good. On time and everything! Vette and I are going to scrounge around the countryside for a bit, so if you need us-“

Here he reached out, taking hold of Quinn’s arm. Out of surprise his fingers loosened, letting the Chiss to pull his arm from behind his back and place a communicator into the palm of his hand.

“Don’t hesitate to call!”

The pair had spent almost the rest of the day and most of the next out in the field. Quinn thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t have to use the communicator, turning it absently in his hand when he had the brief moment between reports and ordering his men around. It wasn’t anything unusual, just the usual holocommunicator like any other. But somehow it was different. Warmer, perhaps. Quinn turned it upside down, allowing the moment of aloneness to frown. He wanted to take it apart, to see what made it so different, but he couldn’t risk turning it non-functional and having to actually need it.

He scrubbed at his face with one hand, eyes turning to the nearest chronometer. Judging from the slight blurriness of the numbers, it was far too late at night and all but the nightshift had retired to their beds. Already running on no sleep the night before, Quinn let out a long sigh, giving into his bodily needs and trudging to his private quarters.

It hadn’t even felt like an hour had gone by before the communicator began to chime, the sound causing the device to vibrate slightly in Quinn’s hand. He jerked awake instantly at the sound, quickly checking the time. It was five minutes until his alarm at 0500. But that didn’t explain why the Sith was calling _him_ , when Zivilus had explicitly said that he was to call him if he needed him.

Unable to keep the Sith waiting, Quinn reluctantly accepted the call, knowing that he must look an utter mess as the pale blue form of the Chiss appeared before him, illuminating the dark room.

“Good morning!” came the far-too cheerful voice, the Sith’s small face bright and smiling before Quinn could get a word in edgewise. “Sorry for such an early call, but I have a proposition for you, Lieutenant!”

Quinn stared, a bit more awake now as the words processed in his head, mind running a mile a second as the only thing that could leave his mouth was a slightly puzzled “my lord?”. What sort of proposal did the Sith have for him at this hour?

Here Zivilus looked a bit sheepish, or at least he did by rubbing the back of his neck with a hand.

“Well, you see, Baras let it slip that you were supposed to go with and oversee Sarvoice after her mission here, but it was obvious that she wouldn’t let anyone watching over her, soooo… do you want spy on me for Baras instead?”

His voice became almost hopeful at the end, and leaving a heavy feeling that he was leaving more than a fair share of information out. But Quinn could read between the lines: Lord Zivilus knew that Darth Baras was going to tie the loose end that was Quinn since his purpose had been dismissed, and he was offering a way around it. That, or Zivilus _was_ supposed to deal with Quinn, and decided to take a very unorthodox way of doing it based on loosely interpreted wording.

Quinn closed his mouth, finding himself gaping at the Sith on the holo for several seconds while the alien waited for his reply. Despite the knowledge that he was most likely supposed to be dead by now, he couldn’t help but have a new seed of hope plant inside his chest. He had a chance of leaving Balmorra.

_He had a chance of leaving Balmorra alive._

“I would be honored, my lord!” Quinn breathed out, bowing his head since he could not bow officially like regulations demanded of him.

“Excellent!” He could hear the beam in Zivilus’ voice, looking back up to confirm the bright smile on the Chiss’ face. “That’s absolutely wonderful! Can you be packed and ready at L- the _Empyrean_ in, say, ten minutes? We’re on a bit of a timeline, you see, and I’ve already sent Captain Jarrow your reassignment since I wasn’t quite sure who else to send it to. So all you have to do is pack and be present!”

Quinn was already on his feet, shoving his feet into his boots without tearing his eyes away from the holo, the tiny seed of hope sprouting with every word the Sith said. He was leaving, _he was leaving_ -!

“I’ll be there in seven, my lord.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn officially becomes a member of the Blue Crew. He doesn't know how to feel about all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been almost a year since I have worked on this project (March 30 of 2017 to January 9th of 2018- yikes). It is still a motivational/practice piece to get me to write again when I fall into slumps, but I never quite abandoned it and always meant to come back to it as I have quite a few long-term plans. And since now I finally got back into playing SWTOR, I thought it best to try my hand again. 
> 
> This chapter may be a bit different style-wise because it has been so long, but I tried to keep it similar to the best of my abilities. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless! 
> 
> Minor edits may or may not also be done to the previous four chapters. I remember seeing some spelling/grammar errors, but the story will remain intact outside of this.

Quinn made it to the Sobrik Spaceport in four minutes and twenty-two seconds.

The estimated three minutes saved were rationed off from fixing his hair, the strands swept back and slightly stuck up in the back from between packing his meager belongings and running across the Imperial post. Any other time and location the Lieutenant would planned enough time to make sure his appearance was immaculate and take the trip on a hurried-but-not-rushed pace, but the tiny sprout of hope in his heart tickled against his veins and lightened his step to where he felt that he was almost gliding across the cracked earth than running.

He was _leaving_ Sobrik, getting off this floating waste of galactic space on his own two feet and _not_ in a black bag like so many others who faced the disappointment of their superiors and were left to rot on this desolated, uncivilized Colicoid-infested hellhole. He couldn’t help but let himself have this moment of broken perfection and cold indifference, with hair unmanaged outside of his hand smoothing over it just after he put his uniform on.

But under the hope was the gnarled roots of worry, in the back of his mind but not forgotten. This could still be a trap- a very elaborate trap- that would lead to his death. Perhaps Lord Zivilus was going to take him straight to Darth Baras to be handled personally, as a failure should not go unpunished. He wanted to push the thought aside as being entirely illogical, but logic and Sith were sometimes far on opposite ends of the spectrum.

And yet… something told him this offered hand by Zivilus was entirely honest.

He settled on blaming his lack of sleep for the bizarre cognitive process he was going through as he breezed by soldiers who stopped mid-yawn to gape after him and question what they had just seen as he set foot down the corridor that led to the _Empyrean_ ’s hangar.

“Going so soon?”

Quinn nearly dropped his one and only bag in shock, his head jerking around as Captain Jarrow stepped into the corridor from behind, the war-torn soldier quirking a single eyebrow while his dark eyes glinted with amusement at the younger man.

“Yes, sir,” Quinn replied after wetting his lips, his left hand starting to tremble a little, more so in an itch to fix a stray bit of hair that was dangling down his forehead in a growing sense of self-consciousness than the trauma it had gone through so long ago. “I… I apologize for not getting the paperwork done prior to my departure, but-“

“Forget the paperwork,” Jarrow grunted, stepping forward and held out a scarred hand towards the Lieutenant, fingers rough against his hand as they gripped each other in firm farewell.

“Get your ass off this rock and give those ‘Pubs hell,” Jarrow stated with a sharp clasp on the shoulder with his free hand before letting go. “And I _don’t_ want to see you back here unless it’s important, you hear?”

“I do as what my lord commands,” Quinn replied smoothly. “But I will make sure to keep you informed if I ever do.”

With one last goodbye to his superior and, perhaps, the closest thing he had to even consider as a friend, Quinn used the last minute and three seconds to walk the rest of the way down the corridor, pause to collect himself and straighten up his appearance, then stepped into the grand view of the _Azure Empyrean._

In the morning sunlight from the open doors, the details of the ship appeared to be almost a very dark blue instead of black like Quinn first perceived when he saw the ship last, every surface shined to perfection by the eager dock crew that were still milling about, double and triple-checking the ship for peak performance. It would be a long time until they saw a starship as fine as a _Fury_ -class, and that thought only made the realization that Quinn would get to _travel_ in it drop on him like a bucket of water, the little seedling of hope sucking it up as he found himself striding towards the ramp.

The Twi’lek saw him first, a box under one arm and halfway up the ramp. She looked as though she had just rolled out of bed yet again, clothes rumpled and one trouser leg tucked into her boot with the other not. She blinked slowly at Quinn as he stop at the foot of the ramp, as if taking a moment to recognize and remember who he was.

“Oh, hey there.” Her words were a bit halfhearted, a lazy wave with her unoccupied hand before stifling a yawn and turning her head towards the open starship. “HEY! BLUE-BUTT! MR. STARCH-COLLAR IS HERE.”

Quinn had to remember to keep his face passive while his ears rang a little from her shout. For such a small alien who clearly could not do mornings, she had an impressive set of lungs on her. And still had the capacity to give him nicknames despite her state of awakeness. He wasn’t certain on how to feel about this, but pressed his lips into a thin line as another blue head popped into the doorway, far more fresh-eyed than his companion.

“Lieutenant!” Zivilus sounded unnaturally cheerful considering the hour, the Chiss’ smile seeming to personally insult Vette as she made an ugly face, nose wrinkling as she stomped up the ramp to leave the two alone and muttering about morning people. Zivilus was entirely unfazed by the insolence. “I’m glad you could make it!”

“You called, and I followed, my lord,” was Quinn’s simple reply as the Sith walked down the ramp to meet him at the bottom, lightsabers at his sides. He could still kill him in an instant, put him down like a disloyal dog where he stood and instantly snuff out the hope of leaving Balmorra alive and in one piece, but that morbid thought was pushed aside as Zivilus gave him an apologetic, sheepish smile instead of a bloodthirsty grin.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, but, well…” He shrugged wordlessly, the slightly lopsided smile still soft on his lips as the eerie solid red eyes stared at him. Or was looking away and somewhere over his shoulder. It was hard to tell _where_ he was looking at, if Quinn was honest. “Last chance to back out, if you’d like to stay here. I know we can get a bit rowdy-“

Zivilus never got the chance to finish his rambling, as Quinn didn’t let him in a bold, impulsive moment of stepping off the hangar floor and onto the end of the ramp with grim determination. If any moment was for him to be cut down in a rage, it would be then, breaking almost a hundred different rules and unspoken dictations in how to act around Sith Lords and his own self-imposed regulations, instantly blaming his lack of proper sleep and digging his left fingers into the strap of his bag to keep it from trembling off his arm in internal panic. If he were to die, then it’d be best to make it quick before his hopes got too high to survive the fall, he tried to reason with himself, staring at the Sith with the calmest face he could muster at that moment.

But the Chiss’ face lit up like a blue star, his words cutting short as his smile grew too wide and his skin flushed a little purple under the friendly strain. If he didn’t look down at the dark armor and lightsabers, Quinn could almost pretend that the Chiss wasn’t a Sith at all. Almost.

“Oh! Well, welcome aboard, Lieutenant!” And with a wave of his hand in a gesture to follow him, Zivilus turned heel and all but _skipped_ back up the ramp.

If this had been ten- hell, _five-_ years prior, Quinn would have taken his chances at the offer to decline and risked staying on Balmorra in comparison to a visibly _insane_ Sith. Child-like, most likely impulsive, an alien with another alien companion- given a lightsaber (or two) and it was a recipe for catastrophic disaster in Quinn’s mind, one that would have led to checking himself in at a mental hospital. Now, however, Quinn was a desperate thirty-year old with a decade long posting on Balmorra’s broken surface with the shadow of death and failure to Darth Baras creeping up on him. He wasn’t stupid, he _knew_ that Darth Baras would tie up loose ends eventually, and his usefulness ended when his _first_ apprentice dismissed him.

Zivilus knew this too, he alluded to such in his offer, and Quinn would be a fool to refuse such a lifeline cast out to him, even if it only meant not dying on Balmorra.

 _Fools of a feather,_ Quinn thought dryly as he curled the fingers of his left hand around his lone bag to keep it steady before following up the enthusiastic, friendly Sith into the ship. He didn’t bother to give Balmorra a second last glance.

The inside of the _Empyrean_ was rather spacious for a starship and despite its dark walls. It was broken up by, surprisingly enough, pieces of artwork that weren’t just holos- actual physical canvases hung up on the walls in a way to keep them from falling off at the hint of a turn. They weren’t even the dark, morbid styles that Quinn had both seen and assumed Sith to possess. In fact, most were landscapes of towering ice and stone, light reflecting off the snow in the light of the sun or under three moons. It was a parallel to that of the reports regarding Hoth, although this landscape seemed far more alien and dangerously beautiful.

“Csilla.”

Quinn started as Zivilus spoke from behind him, his solid-colored eyes focused on the artwork before them that the human had unknowingly stopped in front of to examine.

“My mother’s work,” the Chiss added, and there was a hint of something in his voice that Quinn couldn’t exactly put a finger on. “Said to remind me of what I leave behind. Wasn’t exactly happy with me becoming a Sith, you see, or leaving, for that matter. Then again, she wasn’t entirely thrilled with anything I did. Unbecoming of someone of my rank.”

Quinn could hear the eye-roll in his words at the end, although he didn’t dare risk ask. There was history between Zivilus and his mother, his words regarding her laced with a tireless sigh that he had heard from holocalls between new recruits and their parents, a familiar nag that often went ignored or a simple “yes mother” to placate the matriarch. There was no hard feelings or hate in regard to the Chiss’ mother, but it was not his place to pry, so instead he decided to play safe.

“She has remarkable skill, my lord.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Now Zivilus’ words inflected with pride, turning to smile at Quinn. “She’d like you. Very prim and orderly-like. Then again, she finds everything non-Chiss rather uncouth in general, so it’s probably best that you didn’t ever meet.”

Something beeped, causing Zivilus to mutter a curse. Quinn instinctively gripped his bag again, shoulders tensing as the Chiss clapped his hands suddenly.

“Right, we need to get going. Two-Vee! Can you show the Lieutenant around while I get this beauty off the ground?”

“Oh yes, Master!” A droid seemed to materialize out of thin air, its core humming slightly inside its frame. It seemed to be a standard Imperial service droid, except that it sported a bright blue handprint on its casing that contrasted against the dark scarlet trimming it was manufactured with. It had to be important, otherwise such a droid would have scrubbed any and all evidence of stains and dirt off itself due to its programming. “Do you require preparation for the Initiation?”

 _Initiation?_ It was as if Quinn had swallowed a rock, anxious worry creeping back into the forefront of his mind in grasping tendrils. It sounded both ridiculous and foreboding at the same time, not knowing where to even begin in expecting what was to come. Knowing Sith, it could be an absolute bloodbath, but knowing even the vaguest pieces of the Chiss tugged him in the direction that it couldn’t possibly be too terrible. Pairing the two facts that Zivilus was both an overly friendly alien and a Sith led to utter conflict of an unforeseeable future.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, Quinn missed whatever was said next, the Chiss disappearing into the cockpit and leaving him to trail after the both excitable yet anxious droid, doing his best to piece together the endless stream of commentary while trying to squash down his own nerves. The ship didn’t have much in ways of rooms, with storage and the main area being the largest. There was a conference room, a shared washroom, the captain’s quarters, a small medical bay that he made a mental note to look further into later, and a common bunk room. The bunkroom was where he met Vette, the Twi’lek sprawled out on one of the upper beds, one leg dangling off the edge while she flipped through a datapad, looking far more alert than she had earlier.

“Yo,” she gave a careless wave, letting the datapad drop to her chest. “Pick a bed. Promise I didn’t get my gross alien germs all over it.”

“How accommodating of you,” Quinn couldn’t help but mutter, dropping his bag onto one of the lower bunks opposite Vette. That seemed to pique her curiosity as she propped herself up onto her elbows, peering down at him.

“Is that all you have?”

Quinn yanked on the zipper with far more force than necessary, turning to shoot the Twi’lek a piercing look from over his shoulder, causing her to raise her hands up in defense.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get all Mr. Grumpy Tight-Pants on me. Jeez, you have less stuff than I did and _I_ was getting my ass dragged through Zappy McEvil Town.”

Quinn honestly still didn’t know what to think of the Twi’lek. Even during their short stay on Sobrik, she had kept close to her Sith companion and behaved herself for the most part, but she certainly couldn’t keep her mouth shut. She had a very… eloquent vocabulary, and she gave off the air of someone who disregarded the rules entirely. She may or may not be a slave, and both she and Zivilus made it hard for him to decipher which was the truth and how to properly regard her.

If it hadn’t been for the situation he was stuck in, Quinn would have never agreed to be trapped on a ship with the likes of her. And yet, here he was, desperate enough in leaving Balmorra to room with a near _child_ of a possible Twi’lek slave and fall under the command of a Chiss Sith. Stooping so low as to willingly consort with aliens- his father would be rolling in his grave.

Putting his years of service into effect, Quinn pointedly ignored Vette as he began to put away the little possessions he had into their proper places as the engine of the ship rumbled to life under his feet. Takeoff was barely even noticeable- even he couldn’t pilot this smoothly when the training was still fresh in his memory. It showed how much skill the Chiss possessed, making him wonder if he had been a pilot before he became a Sith, although from the little Quinn knew about his new Lord’s people, the Chiss Ascendancy was as a rigid and imposing as the Imperial Military. Imagining such a personality in that position was unfathomable.

In truth, Quinn had less than even the bushy-tailed Privates that came and went through Balmorra’s harsh reality check. He had exactly three sets of uniform, one set of fatigues that he usually simply slept in if he didn’t pass out in his uniform first, two pairs of boots, and a grand total of five personal effects. It wasn’t that he didn’t like having things; it was the very simple, logical fact that for a man who was living on Death’s doorstep for so long, there was no point in keeping many things that would most likely end up being tossed into the dumpster upon his demise.

“Oh! I see you’re settling in already!”

Quinn quickly stuffed an old picture frame back into his bag at the voice, shoulders stiffening as he snapped to attention. Vette snickered from her loft as Zivilus blinked, at him, smile softening to an apologetic one.

“Sorry, should’ve knocked first. Anyway, ship’s on autopilot to Nar Shaddaa and should be there in, oh, about 114 Imperial Standard Hours. In the meantime, we need to get you through Initiation!” He pointed a finger at Quinn, who became as stiff as a board at the statement.

“Sweet!” Vette cheered, ignoring or not noticing Quinn’s unease and jumping off her bunk with a heavy thump. “Are we going to break out the booze this time too?”

“Sure! There’s some Hoth Daiquiri in my room if you don’t mind getting that out.”

“That shit’s _gross_ ,” Vette pulled a face, but flounced out of the room all the same, Two-Vee following after her with the word of helping and the call of “Language!” from Zivilus.

At the mention of alcohol, Quinn’s shoulders relaxed just a hair, but the internal worry must have crept onto his face- or perhaps sensed- as Zivilus’ expression turned into an unusual comforting one that seemed both out of place and not.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything. It’s mostly symbolic ceremony, short version takes about a minute if you exclude the added bonus of drinking ourselves into a stupor. Vette added that, and to be honest it’s quite relaxing, considering how traditionally stiff and political it is if you do it normally. Er… you don’t have to do that last part, if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you for the consideration, my lord,” Quinn chose his words carefully, giving the Chiss a polite bow of his head, although the Sith’s explanation only marginally eased his worry.

“You could just call me Zivilus. I won’t bite your head off if you don’t.” Zivilus sounded amused, but his shoulders lifted and dropped in a shrug all the same. “But whatever makes you comfortable, Lieutenant. Or can I call you Quinn? Or is Malavai alright?”

Quinn started a little at the mention of his first name, clasping his hands behind his back and holding his left with his right. Few, if any, ever even bother calling him outside of his rank and surname, even going so far back in his school days. He was surprised that Zivilus even knew of it, but then again, perhaps he had taken the time to read through his dossier- or what remained of it after Darth Baras stuffed most of it under so many confidentialities or ‘misplaced’ information. Still, the mention of his name in that strange, accented voice that belonged to the Chiss felt… odd, he supposed, unable to really decipher what he was actually feeling and opted not to think about it too much.

“However you see fit, my lord,” he decided on slowly, giving no definite answer as it was not his place to tell the Sith what to do.

Zivilus hummed, looking Quinn over with his unreadable, solid eyes. It took all his will power not to subtly shift in place, his expression smooth before the Sith smiled once more.

“Well, I’ll think about it later. Let’s go find Vette before she figures out where I store the expensive liquor.”

They eventually all convened in the main common space, Vette sitting on the holo projector with far more bottles of alcohol than all three could physically put away, kicking her heels against the metal panel much to Two-Vee’s worry.

“Right then!” Zivilus exclaimed, causing Vette to stop kicking the panels and the droid from fretting further. “It is now time for the Initiation of Lieutenant Malavai Quinn!”

Vette whistled as Two-Vee gave a polite clap, metal digits clanking together. Quinn remained where he was, stiff but setting his jaw in keeping his expression smooth as the Chiss turned towards him, stepping close into his personal space. It took all his willpower not to step back to a safer distance, getting the impression it was in his best interest not to.

“As captain of the _Azure Empyrean_ , aka _Little Miss Blue_ , I welcome you, Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, into the Blue Crew! May you wear this with pride and remembrance if our lives ever part ways- for good or for ill.” 

Zivilus’ hands moved, draping something cool and silky around his neck. It was a deep blue, short scarf, the fabric unfamiliar to Quinn but felt more expensive than his entire life’s savings could even begin to afford. The Chiss’ face was close to his own, able to make out the faint dusting of freckles in the grey-blue and tinted purple skin of his cheeks and nose. The Sith’s fingers were slow to slide away from the scarf, their warmth starting to seep into Quinn’s uniform.

“Booze time!” Vette called, causing Zivilus to let go of the scarf with a start after the moment became far longer than necessary. The hint of purple became more visible as the Sith let out a small huff of a laugh, shaking his head at his Twi’lek companion.

“Don’t drink all of it! It’s barely noon yet!” he told her, moving to help Two-Vee wrangle some of the more potent drinks away from her eager grasping fingers, leaving Quinn standing alone, his own hand reaching up to gently touch the silken scarf as his brain caught up with the present.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day off Balmorra leaves Quinn with more questions than answers. Meanwhile, Zivilus is an awkward disaster on legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As soon as I finished chapter 5, I started on chapter 6 instead of sleeping. I just really like writing Quinn, it turns out. Tags have also been fixed (somewhat).

The chrono near his head beeped cheerfully in his ear, causing Quinn’s eyes to snap open just as a pillow smacked him in the face.

Spluttering, the man blindly fumbled to turn the device off while tearing the pillow away, shooting a glare at the shadowy form of Vette who had simply rolled over in her lofty bed and gone back to sleep again. She didn’t even have the foggiest idea of what she had just done, still sleeping off her drunken stupor from the day before, which was the only reason why Quinn simply sighed and pulled his feet out from under the blankets to get ready for the day in muted darkness.

The “party” after the Initiation had been, for the most part, consisting of Vette drinking herself silly. Zivilus had put down a few drinks himself, but he always seemed in control of his facilities and smiling on in amusement as Vette began to regale tales of her treasure hunting trips with her previous gang of misfits. “Stealing” was a more apt word for it, but Quinn didn’t utter his thoughts on the matter. Dealing with drunk aliens wasn’t in his job description, or at least that was what he told himself.

The Chiss did manage to coax him into trying one of his Hoth Daiquiri that he had poured out in a glass and been nursing for a few minutes while Vette blathered. The container had been cool in his hand when he gingerly took the offered drink, and the slight steam that was curling from the liquid inside was _certainly_ not from being warm.

It had been like swallowing ice, freezing its way down his throat and causing his lungs to seize in shock as he accidentally swallowed a bit more than necessary. Zivilus carefully took the glass back with visible apologetic concern while he had been too busy coughing, causing the Twi’lek to stop her nattering and laugh at his expense instead. It had an odd, tangy aftertaste that remained in his mouth, but he had refused to drink anything else, as they didn’t even have anything that sounded, well, _normal_.

The things he’d do for a decent glass of Corellian whiskey would be an embarrassment of someone of his rank, but he didn’t trust the swill that was served in the canteens of Sobrik and he hadn’t touched a glass stronger than the occasional shipment of caf in over a decade. Sadly, it appeared that his alien companions had far more… _exotic_ tastes.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur, and if he was honest with himself, Quinn hadn’t had a clue as to what transpired other than the brief impression that Zivilus took one look at him and quietly excused him to get some rest, to which Quinn had all but passed out as soon as he hit the mattress. It was mostly exhaustion finally catching up to him, with the meager two or so hours he managed to catch within the last two days or so, and it was by some miracle that the noise from the others hadn’t kept him awake- or when Vette eventually stumbled back into the shared quarters.

His fingers traced over the silk scarf resting innocently on the basin. It was in stark contrast with the stark grey of his uniform, the color rich and deep. Wearing such a thing openly was against standard regulation, but his new lord had given it to him personally to wear, and a Sith’s word outranked any Imperial. Yet it still felt wrong and unseemly to wear it where anyone could see it or steal it, especially since it felt as if it cost more than his entire life’s savings.

Slowly, Quinn wound the fabric around his upper arm, the thin material invisible and unnoticeable under the sleeve of his coat. It would have to do for now.

His stomach growled as he finished the last of his morning routine with a quick tug of the hem of his uniform coat. Vette was still out for the count when he returned to stow away the toiletries, oddly quiet outside of her breathing. At least she wasn’t a snorer- he may have resorted to smothering her in her sleep if she did.

The kitchen space was small, but efficient for a ship of this design, and he was glad that the caf had its place on the counter for him to make without rummaging through the food supplies and cupboards. Granted he wasn’t familiar with the brand, but the grounds smelled far superior to that Balmorra got in their military shipments that Quinn was almost tempted to simply eat it. He swallowed down the impulsive urge by brewing up a pot instead, deigning himself in scouring the designated space for food while he waited.

There was… a lot of expensive foodstuff. The carefully sealed packages and actual _fresh_ produce carefully stowed to extend its shelf life was something he was not expecting or even recognized. It seemed rather wasteful, considering how much would end up being thrown away due to spoilage if it didn’t get consumed quick enough, but it didn’t guilt him any as he subtly pried a mysterious pear-shaped fruit with small pink spots away from its brethren and gave the skin a subtle nibble before risking taking further bites.

It was rather sweet, abet having the consistency of wet paper. He chewed nevertheless as he found a shelf full of surprisingly plain dishware and pulled out a mug to fill up with the caf now brewed to perfection.

Quinn would die for this caf, he realized as he took a cautious sip of the hot liquid. Run into a crowd of Republic troops nude and with nothing but a stick to beat them with like a drunken, insane fool. It made the tension in his shoulders ease to almost slumping, a sigh escaping him before he could reign himself back in. It made the stuff he had been drinking for ten years taste like radioactive sludge.

Stuffing the last of the fruit into his mouth, Quinn cradled the mug in his hands as he carried it towards the med bay he remembered seeing during Two-Vee’s tour. The door to the captain’s quarters were closed, and Vette hadn’t made an appearance yet either. It left him with his own devices for the time being, and Quinn couldn’t be anything less than diligent and hard working.

The lights flickered on as he entered, the soft glow dispelling the shadows from the starch environment. It seemed rarely used, or at least kept in such pristine conditions it was difficult to tell from just the beds and kolto tank alone. His hand drifted to the computer terminal in the far corner, the holo screen blinking to life under his fingers as he set his caf down.

There was absolutely zero medical files on record, causing Quinn to press his lips into a thin, unamused line. He wasn’t even sure if Zivilus had files _to_ look at, or Vette, now that he came to think about it. Perhaps she would have some sort of records if she was indeed a slave, but even just thinking about the endless blabbering of her stories the previous night made his head hurt, and so he didn’t in favor of checking the supplies.

Naturally, the number of supplies in the cupboards did not match the numbers in the system. It appeared no one was bothering to keep up to date in case they needed to stock up again. It made him worry about the quantity of supplies in general, but he could only assume that they were in better shape as they were used more frequently.

Taking a sip of his caf, Quinn rolled his shoulders and set to work, dutifully counting every package, bandage, kolto, and tool in the cupboards. The bandages and kolto were in dire straights, most likely being pillaged through by minor injuries along the way. Surgical tools remained untouched, much to his relief, and more of the other supplies used for more serious injuries were all accounted for. It was easy enough to go back and reset the numbers in the system, but it was time-consuming work, and his caf was cold by the time he plugged in the last numbers and rearranged the cabinets into a more orderly fashion.

There was a knock on the doorframe, causing Quinn to nearly drop the almost empty mug the rest of the way down to the counter as he turned in his chair. There stood Zivilus, hair a tousled mess and slick with sweat, a tunic draped over his shoulders like a towel and leaving his well-toned torso bare.

“My lord-!” Quinn caught himself, trying to get up from the chair only for the Chiss to wave him back down again.

“No need to get up for my sake,” was his reply, a small, lopsided sort of smile creeping into the corners of his lips and crinkling the edges of his red eyes. “Was just curious. Not even Two-Vee is up this early when I train.” His head tilted a little towards the mug on the table next to him. “Want another one?”

Quinn blinked, sitting back down in his chair with a quiet thump. “I… no thank you, my lord.”

Zivilus shrugged, looking around the room- or so Quinn assumed- before stepping in and taking a seat down on the bed closest to the desk. Quinn turned the chair further to face him, hands folding in his lap to keep them respectfully still. Up close, he could start to make out the form of scars that crossed over the Chiss’ abdomen and chest, hard to notice like the one that ran down one eyebrow and just barely missing the eye.

“So that’s what that’s for.” Zivilus’ words drew Quinn out of his staring, turning slightly to look over his shoulder at the numbers on the screen, the Chiss leaning on his elbows to look. “Glad you got a start on it- looks like we’re running out of kolto paste after all. I _told_ Vette to stop using it so frivolously, but nooo.”

Quinn didn’t know how to respond to that, instead watching Zivilus roll his eyes- or at least something akin to such- before turning his attention back to Quinn.

“I’m glad you’re making yourself comfortable,” the Sith murmured, his voice low and soft. “I know it’ll be a bit of a shock, going from living military life on Balmorra to being here on a ship with two unruly aliens, but I really do appreciate you being here.”

“Thank you, my lord. I… appreciated the offer.” Quinn fell silent for a moment, questions trying to work their way out of his lips unwantedly at the odd display of concern for his part, especially from a Sith. He forced himself to take a breath, gaze going up to Zivilus. “My lord, may I… inquire something?”

“You can ask anything at all, Quinn,” Zivilus smiled, sitting up from his slouched position. “Anytime you want to, as well. You will not bother me in the slightest.”

The choice of words were… odd… but Quinn decided not to dwell upon them as he cleared his throat.

“It is… about Vette…” Here he trailed off, uncertain of how to ask. Luck was on his side as the Chiss’ expression became understanding.

“You wish to know whether she is a slave or not,” he clarified for him, and Quinn gave him a soft “Yes, my lord” in response. “Well, in legal sense, she was captured and put into slavery under Sith ruling and given to me. Officially, she is a friend and companion, and will be considered as such.”

His words weren’t sharp, per se, but they were pointed as solid crimson eyes fell upon Quinn’s blue. He quickly diverted his gaze elsewhere with a slight bow of his head.

“I understand, my lord.” So he would treat her as he always have- awkwardly and distant. What else could he do? She clearly had Zivilus’ favor to a point where she wasn’t wearing a collar, and was all but in name a free Twi’lek. It wasn’t like he knew how to handle her anyway, so keeping her at arm’s length would be best in all accounts.

“Do you have access to her medical records?” Quinn decided to try to skirt around the awkwardness before it had a chance to grow again, watching Zivilus blink slowly. “And, if you’re admissible, your own, my lord.”  

“What?” It took a second for Zivilus to realize what he was talking about, his attention drawing towards the screen behind Quinn before giving a sudden start. “Oh! Yes! I forgot you are a certified medic, if I am to be honest. Captain Jarrow mentioned it, otherwise I wouldn’t have known. Your profile is extraordinarily empty.”

While he spoke, the Chiss slid off the table and leaned over Quinn’s shoulder to tap at the projection, not even realizing how close his bare chest was to Quinn’s face nor how the man stiffened at the contact. He could feel Zivilus’ heartbeat against his shoulder, breath in his ear as the strong arms reached around and punched various codes into the system. If he hadn’t been frozen in place due to sudden shock, the Lieutenant would have tried to slide down his seat and maybe out of sight from the awkwardly warm _closeness_.

“There,” he replied, the word rumbling in his chest against Quinn as he pulled his hands away and onto the back of the chair, the screen sporting two new unread files. “I gave you full access. They should be relatively up to date, but you may need to drag Vette kicking and screaming if you ever need to give her another physical.”

“My lord,” Quinn tried to say in gratitude, but his voice became slightly strangled in his throat. Zivilus was _still_ leaning against him, and for a being who was born and raised on a glacier-covered planet, he was remarkably warm. Warm enough that it was making _him_ feel a little hot under the collar, trying to clear his throat as Zivilus turned vibrant eyes down to him.

Being so close, Quinn could make out that the Chiss, in fact, _did_ have pupils- small slits of paler red amongst the sea of scarlet. He wasn’t sure what to do with this newfound information as said eyes blinked at him slowly, processing.

And then the freckled cheeks suddenly turned a brilliant purple, a quiet little “oh!” escaping the Chiss as he jerked away from Quinn, the warmth of his chest leaving its ghosting impression on his back and shoulders.

“Yes! Well, uh, if you need anything else, I’ll just… be up at the controls!”

And then the man made a sound Quinn never thought he would hear a Sith make: a giggle. Granted, it was a nervous, awkward little sound, but the purplish hue of Zivilus’ face only grew as he turned on his heel and proceeded to run into the doorframe, stumbling a little before all but falling out of the med bay, leaving Quinn entirely lost as to what had just transpired.

Quinn wondered if his new lord hit his head during his training session, or was still feeling the effects of alcohol so late after his last drink as he slowly turned back to the computer terminal. One minute the man was invading his personal space, the next he was frantically trying to get away- all while retaining that strange, friendly air about him.

If it hadn’t been for the evidence Quinn himself had witnessed, he still wouldn’t have believed the alien to be a Sith even if it got him gutted alive. Maybe he actually was a Jedi trying to infiltrate the Sith?

The thought almost made Quinn snort, shaking his head in dismay. No, the man was no Jedi either, not like the one whom Lord Sarvoice captured on Balmorra so many months ago. Perhaps it was simply because the Chiss was just that- a Chiss. But, then again, all records he had read and heard claimed that the Chiss were more like himself- cold, strict, rule-following, carried out their orders to the letter. Zivilus was warm, like a campfire on a cool night, flickering whichever way he so pleased while pulling others into his welcoming influence.

And yet… there had to be something that made Darth Baras invest in the alien into becoming his apprentice.

His gaze roamed to the files now on the ship’s medical system, unopened and yet full of vauge information, no doubt. Sith kept their personal files close at hand or non-existent, so he wasn’t expecting much from the file as curiosity got the better of him and carefully clicked on his lord’s file.

It was… much more than he thought. Quinn blinked slowly, roaming over the data with brows rising to his hairline.

His full name was Zivilus’teous’lejurn of House Csapla, he was roughly 28 in Imperial Years, and, apparently, had some minor intolerance to milk-based products regardless of origin.

He wasn’t sure what was more surprising. He knew that the Chiss favored such long-winded names, but Zivilus had simply referred himself as such and not his full name when he had first been introduced. Perhaps it was a personal choice, considering how most Imperials- and everyone else for that matter- would not be able to know where to even begin to pronounce it. The second part tickled something in the back of Quinn’s mind, something important that he had briefly read about, but it escaped him at the current moment and the file said nothing else on the matter.

His age was another matter entirely. Sith were quick to scoop up Force Sensitives, he knew, and all of the few Sith he had seen during his political exile on Balmorra were all quite young unless they were ranked higher than Apprentice. But Zivilus was almost as old as _he_ was- and still an Apprentice. The only logical explanation was that he was discovered and started late- very late. From what he could gather from second and third-hand gossip, most Acolytes who went into the Academy on Korriban who were over the age of 18 when starting out tended to have… less than successful tenures. Most went in as children and left as older teenagers- latecomers were not treated kindly, or less so in Sith standards.

It made Quinn wonder if there was more to his lord than was currently perceived.

Outside of that, it was strictly a list of medical reports, mostly a description of all injures that were patched up by medical droids or the occasional Imperial medic. He was surprised to find his own medical report in the file regarding Zivilus’ tumble into a wall, the list one of the more severe case of injuries the Chiss had accumulated. Most were non-life-threatening lightsaber wounds, a few electrical burns, and blaster grazes. So far the man was either lucky, very good at avoiding serious harm, or excelled in self-care.

Vette’s file was more in-depth. They had age (17, good lord that Twi’lek was young), height, weight, acquisition date- they even had the length and width of her lekku. It was all very starch and business-like, something that made Quinn feel unusually uneasy as he scrolled through every blemish that Vette possessed. A scar on the back of her left shoulder of 6 units in length, a birthmark on her calf 13 and ¼ units wide, her left lekku was just 1/8 of a unit shorter than her right, her teeth were in remarkable condition-

Quinn found himself shutting the file down and leaning back in his chair, unsettled. Was that how slaves were documented medically? They may not have had her real name (the space left blank), but everything else seemed a bit too much.

Then again, they were documenting for her to be _sold_ , and slaves were sold in various different categories…

Quinn rubbed his face with both his hands, trying to scrub away his own spiraling thoughts before grasping at his empty cup of caf and decided to step out of the med bay for the time being. He ended up finding both Vette and Zivilus in the kitchen, the latter still wearing his tunic around his neck and not how he should be and the former looking a little worse for wear but at least functioning normally. Whatever the conversation they were having ended when he made an appearance, Vette’s mouth upturned into a wide grin even as Zivilus’ cheeks dusted purple all over again.

“You’re _so_ screwed,” Vette whispered conspiringly to Zivilus, who quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, only to make a gross noise as Vette, undoubtedly, slobbered all over his palm and causing them both to bicker in hushed voices.

Quinn pointedly decided to simply ignore them unless directly spoken to, pouring himself another cup of divine intervention that was this caf. It was going to be a _long_ trip to Nar Shaddaa, and he could only hope he could find his place on this ship without it driving him slowly insane with mixed signals and feelings over _aliens_ of all things.   

On top of this, he had _yet_ to send notice to Darth Baras of his… reassignment.

Nar Shaddaa couldn’t come fast enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally arriving at Nar Shaddaa in one piece, Quinn accompanies Zivilus on an errand with some unsuspecting yet unsurprising results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! I appreciate the support for this small work. 
> 
> I wrote this chapter much when I should be sleeping, so it may be a bit off kilter from its usual style. I'm sorry in advanced!

The last few days of the trip to Nar Shaddaa were… odd.

Every scheduled morning, Quinn would awake to the smell of caf already brewing. He would not see who made it, but a cup would already be poured and a small plate of some sort of sliced fruit or rehydrated food would be set out for him on the counter. The caf seemed a bit different than the first batch he made; a slight bit of warm spice in the already divine liquid that elevated it than degraded.

The storage room would be closed during this time, the sound of movement coming from within but Quinn did nothing to attempt to see what Zivilus was doing during his training. If he did not want anyone to see, then it wasn’t his place to question it.

Vette became a constant annoyance once she arose from her slumber, following him from the med bay once he completed servicing all the equipment and went off to storage, the door open and vacated of Zivilus’ presence. She would tease and ask all sorts of questions, even having the gall to illegally access his records and prod at all the visible holes in it from where Darth Baras had Intelligence redact so much out of it that it was sad. Still didn’t mean he answered the Twi’lek, either ignoring her until he no longer could and snapped at her or simply gave single syllable answers. She never seemed to care, grinning even more so when he snapped than when he half-heartedly amused her with hums and occasional grunts.

He saw Zivilus at odd times and odder places, like in the crawl spaces under the floors, halfway into storage bins, or in the cockpit reading something off a datapad with his legs hooked over the back of the pilot’s seat and his head dangling off the bottom cushion. Unlike Vette, who was shameless in her actions whenever she was caught doing something similar, the Chiss would smile and cheeks dusting with the faintest purple and apologize- _apologize-_ to Quinn.

The fact that a _Sith_ would ever apologize for _anything_ to an Imperial officer was unsettling, but perhaps more so was the fact that Zivilus was also so... very _tactile._

Quinn noticed it mostly in the interactions between Zivilus and Vette, where the man would at random times reach out and simply _touch_ the Twi’lek. He would pat her hand, give her one-armed hugs, even grin and press a kiss to her forehead once when she had stated suddenly during a light lunch that she managed to get into some of Apprentice Sarvoice’s records- much to her faux, disgusted noises.

Zivilus was a little less touchy with Quinn as he was with Vette, mostly in part, Quinn realized, that the man also realized how much it made the Lieutenant uneasy. He gave gentle brushes of his shoulders, a hand on his arm that lasted no more than three seconds before the Chiss saw what he was doing almost on instinct and pulled away, always giving Quinn a slight apologetic smile. Most of the time, however, Quinn observed Zivilus catching himself before he ever did touch him, a slight twitch of his hand that goes to him threading his fingers together or tapping a rhythm into the table or against his own thigh.

It was both disconcerting and reliving that the Chiss would put so much effort into making sure Quinn was comfortable. On one hand, he could be trying to lull him into a state of false ease, only to thrash him later when he was relaxed; but on the other hand Zivilus radiated so much _honesty_ that the intellectual part of Quinn wanted to label the man as being completely truthful in his actions, as odd as they may be.

In the end, Quinn decided to reserve his opinions and continue to simply observe. After all, somewhere along the way the façade will slip if it was false.

His reports to Darth Baras were as polite and reserved as he could make them, uncertain how the Sith Lord would appreciate him leaving Balmorra without his say-so. He didn’t mention the fact that Zivilus knew about Baras’ original plan of having him spy on Apprentice Sarvoice, nor did he touch base with the idea that Zivilus was _supposed_ to dispose of him instead of bringing him aboard.

Baras’ reply- in holo once he managed to seclude himself into the storage room after Vette retired, Two-Vee shut himself down for recharge, and Zivilus off somewhere but not at least in storage, was less than thrilled, but accommodating. After all, any Sith could have ordered Quinn to follow and he would have no choice in the matter.

“ _He is an unorthodox apprentice,”_ Baras had said, his voice low with a mix between a hum and a sigh, obviously quite used but still irritated at handling Zivilus… eccentrics. “ _No matter. This will prove useful in the long term. Wherever Sarvoice leads, Zivilus follows, and soon enough they will find themselves vying for the same objective. Watch them both, and if his… opinions, become detrimental to my cause, shoot him.”_

It was when he settled his nerves and stepped into the hallway when a hand fell upon his shoulder for the briefest of moments, warm yet startling as he nearly rammed his head into Zivilus’ smiling face.

“ _Keep up the good work, Quinn,”_ was all the Sith said, giving his shoulder a squeeze before flitting off  again down the hallway, leaving Quinn to catch up as to what just happened and settle his heart back in his chest.

Zivilus had, more or less, given him free reign on how he responded to Baras. Having such loose regulations on his task was a tad nerve-wracking, as it left him with far too much room to stray in error. However, it would not change how he wrote his reports, leaving Baras unaware as to the ploys that went beyond him.

Baras was his lord… but so was Zivilus. It was hard to pick a side, not when Baras’ main focus was on Sarvoice, but Zivilus. The Chiss was simply a passing tool, one of the many cogs in Baras’ mechanics. Baras was more worried about his other apprentice than the Chiss- even Quinn to see this. But the Lieutenant had yet to observe the Chiss in battle, in any situation outside of friendly banters and awkward bumbling around the ship, whereas he had witnessed Sarvoice cut through the Balmorran landscape to achieve her goal with deadly precision.

Baras had _reason_ to be both proud and wary of his first apprentice. His second remained an unknown variable, one that left Quinn wondering why the Darth took the Chiss on in the first place, only to quickly chase the idle thought away as quickly as it came. It was not his place to question the Sith.

They arrived to Nar Shaddaa late in the afternoon, Vette’s chattering becoming non-stop as she bounced in the seat behind the co-pilot’s after becoming so bouncy on her feet Zivilus couldn’t help but laugh and ask her to sit down while Quinn assisted in the landing. Not that his new Lord needed any help- he flew smooth over the rising skylines and pleasure barges, circling into a landing into a free hangar in the Mezenti Spaceport. He flew with such ease and confidence that Quinn was certain now that the Chiss had experience with piloting- and had impeccable skill.

Vette bounded out of the ship before the ramp could even finish lowering, a smile bright on her face and talking too fast to catch half of what she was rambling about.

“-and then there’s the shopping on the Promenade!” she rambled on while Quinn took one breath of the outside air and tried not to lose a lung from the thick, smog-filled air. Zivilus seemed oddly unaffected, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled at Vette’s antics with amused gentleness that did not match the dark armor and the dual lightsabers at his sides.

“My lord,” Quinn asked softly, causing Zivilus to turn those red eyes towards him. “May I inquire as to our purpose here?”

“Hm?” Zivilus blinked slowly, before his eyes widened a little. “Oh! I never told you, have I? Well, we are meeting a… business associate, for an acquaintance. And then Vette’s going on a well-deserved shore leave while I go run a few errands.” The way he said “errands” was with a drop in pitch that send a shiver up Quinn’s spine. There was no doubt in his mind that Zivilus was going to kill some people- or seriously maim them.

“You can choose what you want to do,” Zivilus added in, giving Quinn a small shrug. “There may be some shore leave in the near future once we get back to Dromund Kaas, and I know you probably haven’t had any vacation time while on Balmorra…”

He trailed off at that, looking a little lost at how to continue. Quinn opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off when Vette bumped her shoulder against his own, jarring him back to the present to shoot her a glare.

“Oh, just go with him. _Someone’s_ gotta make sure our blue Sithy friend doesn’t kick the bucket by a lucky gangster shot.”

“Do you think so lowly of me?” Zivilus gasped, putting a dramatic hand to his heart while Quinn replied with his own: “I was planning on going regardless.”

“You were?” Zivilus’s head snapped around, surprise etched across his features, hand sliding off his chest. “I mean, that’s great! I’d love to have to come along and keep me out of trouble!”

Vette rolled her eyes as Quinn simply stared at Zivilus, lost for words. The Chiss certainly knew how to keep him feeling so off center at any given time. Even as he followed the man and his Twi’lek companion through the spaceport and to the taxis, Zivilus never hid the open awe and interest he had in the place as they stepped out onto the taxi platform and looked out over the towering walls of durasteel and flashing neon signs depicting scantily-cladded dancers. It was all rather distasteful, but Quinn took one look at Zivilus’ wide, red eyes as he ran to the edge of the platform to peer over the railing with such childlike delight that he found himself unable to express his dislike.

“It’s like a drier, seedier Kaas City,” Zivilus mused, causing Vette to laugh and grab his hand, dragging him away from the edge and towards a taxi that the transport droid had waiting for them.

“Come on, you loser, you got a delivery to take care of.”

“Oh, yeah!” And just like that, Zivilus absently reached out and took hold of Quinn’s hand as he was happily led away by the Twi’lek, causing the Lieutenant to quickly pick up his feet lest he would jar his Lord’s arm. The Chiss was wearing gauntlets, but somehow his hand still felt warm, radiating through the armor and into his own fingers as if he was internally hosting a fire in his veins.

The short hand train ended as soon as they reached the taxi, Zivilus’ hands slipping from both of his companion’s as he hopped into the vehicle, wiggling with unrestrained glee. Vette took the driver’s seat, plugging in the automatic destination to the Promenade as soon as Quinn settled into the back, his stomach lurching a little at the uneven takeoff.

“Have you ever been to Nar Shaddaa?”

Quinn blinked, eyes turning to find Zivilus turned in his seat, staring back at him with those strange red eyes.

“Ah… no, my lord,” he managed to answer, threading his fingers into his lap. His hand that Zivilus held felt warmer than the other… He must be imagining it. “I have been to Hutta, but never here, and that was well in my youth.”

“I never been there either. Is it nice there?”

Vette snorted loudly before covering her mouth with a hand as Zivilus swiveled his gaze to the Twi’lek, confused amusement quirking at his lips. “What?”

“Hutta is a massive, polluted swamp. It’s gross,” Vette replied once she lowered her hand, a grin on her face.

“For once, I have to agree with the Twi’lek,” Quinn muttered, causing Vette to go “See? Even Stick-Up-His-Ass says it’s bad!”

 “Everyone says poorly about Hoth too,” Zivilus grumbled, sinking back properly into his seat and folding his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong with a little snow and glaciers?”

“Everything- you’re just weird,” Vette happily supplied as the taxi settled down on the platform leading off into the Promenade.

The Promenade was full of shops, open-stall markets, and seedy cantinas that had Vette bouncing on her toes- and she wasn’t the only one, if Zivilus stood still long enough. 

“Alright! I’m bailing,” Vette clapped her hands together before giving them both a cheeky wave. “See you both later! Call me if you need anything!”

“I will!” Zivilus called back. “Don’t get into too much trouble!”

“She’s going to cause trouble,” Zivilus sighed with a fond smile as he watched the Twi’lek bound away. “Ah well, let her live a little. She deserves it, after all.”

The look that drifted over to Quinn was unreadable, almost a sad, thoughtful expression if he so took a guess. Whatever it was only lasted a second before the Sith shook his head. “Well, come on, then. Let’s meet some old friends.”

Quinn obediently followed after Zivilus who led him down into one of the seediest cantinas on the entire planet, the lights dim and music loud as dancers and servers swayed through the crowded tables, their jewels and thin silk leaving little undiscovered. Quinn made a mental note to take a thorough shower as soon as he left this place and returned to the _Empyrean,_ giving one such Twi’lek dancer an unimpressed look as she sashayed up to him and battered her eyelashes, her hands already circling around his wrist and stopping him from continuing forward after his lord.

A warm arm circled around his waist before the Twi’lek could try to even begin enticing him with her with sultry words, nearly causing him to pull his blaster out if said weapon hadn’t been trapped between his hip and a familiar gloved hand that pulled him flush to a warm body.

“He’s with me, darling.” The words came out unexpectedly low and soft like the silk the Twi’lek wore, the previous awe and excitement from Zivilus’ expression gone and replaced with a comfortable ease, as if he had belonged here all along. The tone made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as the Chiss graciously tipped the pink-hued girl a few credit chips and sent her on her way before steering Quinn further through the crowd, arm still firmly around his waist and so warm he almost thought the Sith was going to burn a hole through his uniform just through touch alone.

“My lord-?”

“Sh,” Zivilus hushed him, breath husky against his ear. “We’re almost through.”

There was a break in the crowd, and Zivilus smiled at a pair at one of the booths along the wall, his arm slipping from around Quinn’s waist to wave at a grey and black-striped Cathar in a bright red, long coat and her Zabrak companion who wore armor far too Mandalorian in design to not be in some relation to them.

“And His Sithness finally graces us with his presence,” the Cathar purred in an unfamiliar accent, sharp canines glinting in the flashing colored lights as she grinned at them, silvery eyes staring at them like fresh meat. Quinn knew she was trouble the moment her eyes slid to him and her lips curled into something dangerously sly as her gaze drifted a bit too low for comfort. “And you brought some delicious man meat with you as well! Your Empire sure knows how to dress them.”

“And you’re still a walking hairball, as always, Takariva,” Zivilus chimed in happily, sliding into the booth opposite them and patting the seat next to him in invitation for Quinn to join.

“Aw, you know exactly what to say to a woman, don’t you?” came the quip back, a clawed hand pressing to her heart. “It seems that those Sith did nothing to your personality when you took you away from Csilla. Bad for business, they are- no one else will deal with me there anymore. But that’s old news. Why don’t you introduce me to your handsome eye candy?”

“Hey now, don’t go propositioning my officer,” Zivilus replied, to which became a big mistake as Takariva leaned in, teeth bared in a feral grin as she lunged at the verbal weakness.

“Oh? _Your_ officer, is he? Well then, you could have just _said so_ -“

Zivilus’ face dusted a faint, familiar purple as he spluttered, trying to correct himself as the Cather leaned back and laughed. Quinn’s eye caught the Zabrak’s, whose expression remained as stony since their arrival, but did give him a small eye roll.  He could feel his lips threatening to twitch into a ghosting smile at that. Seemed that he wasn’t the only one who had to deal with unusually exuberant companions.

“I thought we were here for business,” Zivilus finally settled on, shooting Takariva a slight glare even though his face remained purplish from the previous heckling. It caused the Cathar to sigh, obviously disappointed that the fun was over.

“Fine fine. Can’t let out mutual friend be disappointed in us, after all. I might shed all my fur in distress. If you got the credits, I got the goods.”

Zivilus’s mouth quirked into a sly smile of his own as he reached into the neck hole of his armor, and instead of pulling out credits, pulled the biggest gem Quinn had ever seen off from around his neck. It was bright, soft glowing purple surrounded by a ring of clear-cut gems, on a silvery chain. Whatever it was, it made Takariva practically drool, making quiet “gimme gimme” noises while flexing her outstretched hands.

“I haven’t seen a bad boy such as this in a _long_ time,” she sighed, as if the amulet in her paw-like hands was the most pleasuring thing she could ever have. “Okay, I’ll forgive the lack of credits- but just this _once_ , you hear?”

“I cannot make any promises,” Zivilus answered with a smile, and the Cathar huffed.

“Fair enough.” She slid a datapad across the table. “Now shoo. I need to make sweet love to this beauty.” She paused, glancing over at the Zabrak’s unexpressionable face. “And then maybe make even sweeter love to strong, vicious Akaavi.”

The Zabrak- Akaavi- merely quirked one eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, babe, you love me,” the Cathar whined playfully, leaning in to kiss the other alien on the cheek.

“Pest,” was Avaaki’s single comment, her voice lower and gravelly than Quinn expected.

“That’s me!”

“We best depart now,” Zivilus’ breath was warm against the shell of his ear as he leaned to whisper to Quinn. “Otherwise she’ll try to get into _my_ pants next.”

Quinn wrinkled his nose a little, but slid off the seat nevertheless, giving them a polite bow of his head that was surprisingly returned by the stoic Zabrak- receiving a cheeky wave of wiggling fingers from the Cathar as he and Zivilus made their way back through the cantina, the datapad tucked firmly away on the Chiss’ person.

“How do you know that… person, my lord?” Quinn hesitated to ask while they waited for the next available taxi, his shoulders slowly loosening from their tenseness of such close quarters with so many aliens and humans alike.

“Dropped out of the Csillian military to run contraband through the glacier passages,” Zivilus replied with a lopsided, helpless smile. “Actually left the military to do theatre, but piloting about was a side job that paid well. Drove my mother up the wall. Good thing she never learned my contact was a _Cathar_ of all things. She’d skin me alive.”

Quinn wasn’t sure what to believe was worse- the fact that Zivilus had military training but dropped out to be a smuggler, or dropped out to do _theatrics_. Then again, it was so very much so _Zivilus_ that he could see the man doing exactly just that- just to annoy his prim and proper mother, whom he loved but also loved to annoy.

The thought occupied Quinn to where he didn’t even notice that Zivilus had, at some point, absently taken his hand and was holding it while they waited for the taxi.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zivilus is unexpectedly recruited for a task by an acquaintance. Quinn is unnerved by his acting skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this over a course of several days, sleep-deprived, and scrambling to figure out what on earth happens during the Sith Warrior missions on Nar Shaddaa because I have yet to get Zivilus' blue ass off Balmorra in game. 
> 
> I apologize in advance.

Quinn came to realize, quite quickly, that anything planned by Zivilus would become thoroughly derailed.

It started as soon as they stepped out of the taxi into one of the lower sections of Nar Shaddaa, the fancy lights of the cantinas fading into the dredges of gang wars and holographic trees in some attempt to make the poorer quarters of the city aesthetically better off- a futile effort in his mind.

And there a hand emerged from the shadows, sharpened tips of gauntlet-covered fingers digging into the Chiss’ shoulder and pulling him into the dusty dark of some garbage-infested alley. He made the most undignified yelp as he did so, and Quinn barely had time to scramble for his blaster before a familiar voice slithered from the darkness like silk:

“Stay your hand, Lieutenant, lest you wish to see failure with the death of your… minder.”

“It’s fine, Quinn!” Zivilus answered as well, except his voice was pitched a little higher than normal. “It’s just Sarvoice.”

Very slowly, the Lieutenant slid his feet into the fringes of the shadows, his eyes adjusting to the din as he waited on his toes and bated breath. And there, making shape out of the gloom, was the familiar deadly and grace of the Pureblood Sith, Apprentice Sarvoice, wearing the dark like a cloak. Her lips were curled into a deadly, sinister smile, opposite Zivilus’ smile which was rather strained and highly worried.

He had all right to be, Quinn noticed as his eyes trailed lower and spotted the glint of the female Sith’s lightsaber, unlit but pressed quite firmly to a part no man should have a lightsaber threaten. It took all his training and willpower not to wince at the thought of the weapon ever being activated in its current position.

“If you had been any other Sith, you would be dead thrice over,” Sarvoice purred lowly, her smile never fading as the eerie, compressing sensation that the Pureblood brought with her upon her heels settled its pressing, dangerous weight upon Quinn’s shoulders, the hairs on the back of his neck and up his arms rising. It was similar to that of something lurking in the dark of night and not knowing where it was until it would be far too late. It was far worse than it was back on Balmorra all those months ago, and Quinn knew, without hesitance, that she could kill them both before she ever blinked.

“But you didn’t, because you like me,” Zivilus, ever the fool, replied with what he probably thought was a joking grin, but it was a little wobbly at the corners. Still, it made the other Apprentice snort, releasing him of both her hand and her lightsaber as she slipped the weapon back into the hoop on her side.

Zivilus slumped against the wall in relief.

“No, because you are too far of a poor idiot to grant you mercy of death,” she quipped back. “And, alas, a useful idiot, one that I currently need.”

“You could’ve asked like a normal decent person,” the Chiss grumbled, straightening up high to give the woman a look that caused the faint lighting to reflect off his solid scarlet eyes in an odd gleam.

“I could, but where is the fun in that?” Her lips lost all humor, however, a mask of seriousness smoothing over her expression. “I’ve been tapped by Darth Jadus for a mission here that requires an extensive number of hours and perhaps days in assistance to Imperial Intelligence.”

“And that intercedes with this dick-measuring contest that good ol’ Baras is having with Karr,” Zivilus leaned back against the wall, arms folding but his posture wasn’t relaxed. Instead it was poised, wound like a spring and ready to strike at the slightest moment. Quinn, too remained on edge, uncertain of what to make of this stance that the usually calm, if not quirky, Sith was now sporting, hands loosely folded behind his back to stifle the slight tremble that had taken residence in his left set of fingers. But between two Sith, Quinn knew every statistic and strategic act would only lead to his own death all that faster if this came down to a fight, and he _had_ observed Sarvoice’s deadly skill with her lightsaber and swift, silent feet. Zivilus, however, he remained in the dark upon, but even with his in mind, he was leaning towards the Pureblood’s victory despite the two-to-one ratio and whatever skills the Chiss may be hiding away in his awkward, jovial frame.

He just hoped it didn’t come to that.

“Ineloquent, but comparable,” Sarvoice agreed readily. “While we both know Baras is an overbearing mongrel posing as a Lord of the Sith, he demands punctuality of success over formalities. He would be most displeased if his Apprentice was called upon by one of higher standing than he.”

“And, I don’t suppose, you have some brilliant idea which involves my help?” Zivilus quirked an eyebrow upward.

“You are smart enough, are you not?” came the Pureblood’s reply, her foot shifting and pushing a bag that had been hidden on the other side of her legs from Quinn’s view into sight and at Zivilus’ feet. Her mouth, however, was curling into a mocking, amused grin. “I am sure you can figure it out.”

If Quinn had been in a different man in a different situation, he would have laughed outright by the Chiss’ face as it went from serious to puzzled to realization, which quickly morphed into something akin to pure horror.

“No,” came the breathless whisper.

“Oh _yes_ ,” Sarvoice all but purred, her grin full of teeth.

 Zivilus’ mouth worked like a landed fish, floundering wordlessly before his shoulders drooped.

“There better be a voice converter in there,” he grumbled, toeing the bag before reluctantly bending down to pick it up.

“Already programmed.” The Pureblood seemed far too entertained about this- more so than Quinn thought she was capable of. The woman had certainly been brisk the entire time she had been on Balmorra, but then again, perhaps the planet itself dampened her mood. There was also the thought that, perhaps, she was enjoying the chance to thrust Darth Baras’ demands on a different person while she went off to serve a member of the Dark Council.

Both seemed highly likely… if he wasn’t observing unpredictable Sith.

“Stay here, Quinn. I’ll be back in a sec,” the Chiss told him, causing the Lieutenant to jerk to attention while the solid red eyes narrowed at an equally, abet naturally red Pureblood. “And you don’t go maiming him with my back turned.”

“Of course not,” Sarvoice sniffed indignantly, offended that he had to even mention such a thing. “He is not the quarry I seek.”

Zivilus pinned her with another, rather serious, look before picking his way further down the alley and behind a small jut in the wall, leaving Quinn alone with the Pureblood Sith.

Quinn got the sudden, jolting impression that he should have stayed on the _Empyrean._

“You are looking well for yourself, Lieutenant,” Sarvoice’s cool voice pulled him from his watch, golden eyes glinting down at him from under the rings in her brow. “Although, I am having trouble deciding whether I should be surprised to see you here on this wretched planet, or not surprised in the least that the Chiss decided to pick up another stray.”

“I cannot suggest what you may feel, my lord,” Quinn decided on slowly, ignoring the fact that he had been compared to a _stay_ of all things.

“I suppose not, as is your place,” Sarvoice agreed upon readily, although her eyes remained fixated upon him, unable to be read. “Best not to forget that, as much as your new master tells you otherwise. That man is a fool, but a highly skilled and useful one.”

Quinn did not get to reply as a shape suddenly emerged from the shadows to rejoin them, causing his heart to lodge in his throat and get stuck there when he realized what Zivilus was _wearing_.

It was dark, foreboding leather and metal in the design of traditional Pureblood Sith armors he remembered from one of his many readings, the faint red trim the only splash of color as the black soaked in the light like the void of space itself. The Chiss inside it seemed out of place, a masked helm tucked under his arm as he tugged at his collar with his free hand.

It was then that Quinn realized that the armor was cut and made for a _woman_ , not a man.

“I know we’re about the same height, but _damn_ you got a thin neck,” Zivilus grumbled, causing Sarvoice to tut at him and pluck the helm from his hold with ease.

“Perhaps it will chaff enough to make snapping your neck later all the more easier,” she answered, cutting off the Chiss’ remark by jamming the headpiece down over his ears.

“Hey! Easy with the manhandling, woman!” Zivilus snipped, but there was no heat to his words even as the voice crackled and turned into _Sarvoice’s own_ as the helm clicked into place, the foreboding, expressionless mask staring at them.

“Your hips do the armor justice, I must admit,” Sarvoice said instead of deigning the man with a reply, stepping soundlessly back to observe the near splitting image of herself. “A pity you were not born of the fairer kind.”

“I aim to disappoint,” not-Sarvoice answered back with far too much cheer that was unnerving. Quinn never wanted to know what the Pureblood would sound like chipper, but now that he _did_ know he wanted to immediately forget.

Sarvoice simply looked down her nose at her doppelganger. Quinn had the impression that she was waiting for something.

“Okay okay,” Zivilus finally cracked under the silent pressure, the narrow shoulders of the armor rising and falling. “Give me a minute. Quinn?”

This time Quinn did not start when he was addressed, but his fingers did curl tighter around his back. “Yes, my lord?”

The mask made it difficult to determine Zivilus’ expression was, but Quinn could imagine the uncomfortable look as his feet shift a little. “I told you about how I dropped out of the military for theatre, right? Well, I’m going to be acting for a little while. Or… well… until this entire thing is over with. Easier for me to stick to my part than to hop in and out of it. I’m going to need you to pretend I really am Sarvoice, and, ah, not take anything I say to you personally, okay? Also… er… what’s a good cover story for you being here with Miss “I-Work-Alone”?”

“Stole him for medical,” Sarvoice answered readily, silent and arms folded as Zivilus explained. “Even an Acolyte would know how terrible I am at healing, and I _am_ going toe-to-toe with a Sith Lord. Since you were here for… extracurricular purposes… I would rather work with someone I am familiar with no matter how briefly the encounters on Balmorra were, than trust a bot or some street medic.”

“Good enough,” Zivilus shrugged, turning back to Quinn. “So yeah, um… no hard feelings, okay?”

“I do as you command, my lord,” the Lieutenant replied with a low bow, feeling the weight of the importance in his part in this. Zivilus was going to pretend, to _act_ that he was Sarvoice in order to fool Baras… to fool _everyone_. Quinn didn’t think that the ploy would remain under wraps in the eyes of Baras, but he must do as his lord commanded, and the situation _was_ in need of some… sleight of hand. Darth Baras may be Sarvoice’s master, but Darth Jadus was part of the Dark Council, and far more political clout than Baras could ever dream of. Even with Quinn’s limited knowledge of Sith politics knew this fact. And openly defying their master in favor of a different Lord would most definitely cause trouble, one that Sarvoice was attempting to avoid.

It was a sound plan… if Zivilus could pull it off.

The man in question had gone unusually quiet, head bowed and fingers threaded together before him. Quinn could almost see those red eyes of his closed under the man before he took in one, long breath, then exhaled slowly.

And then he _changed_.  

If the anxiety-causing invisible eyes that Sarvoice’s presence caused, it was now far worse than before, a thick, stifling blanket of fear that would make lesser men turn tail and run. Quinn’s legs tensed, ready to bolt for it while his mind kept his feet firmly planted regardless of what his instincts were telling him. It was as if Zivilus had copied, no, _become_ Sarvoice as the masked Sith slunk into the same graceful pose of the Pureblood, who was watching her comrade with fascination.

Her head tilted just slightly to the left. Her doppelganger followed suit.

“Do keep your fear in check, _Lieutenant_ ,” the masked one purred, and it sounded _exactly_ like Sarvoice that even the faint crackle of the converter did little to stifle the shiver that ran up Quinn’s spine as he pushed his shoulders back.

“I will do my best, my lord.”

The Pureblood, meanwhile, had procured her own masked helm, the style a tad more sinister in its curled, screaming face of the raised metal on its surface, and put it over her own head. And there stood two dangerous Sith, poised with deadly grace as the second passed over a holocommunicator to the first.

“Setsyn awaits,” the first tells the second, the weight of her words beholden promise of a painful demise if Zivilus failed. But she did not wait for any reply, turning on her heel and vanishing into the shadows in the same breath that Zivilus turns to face towards the street, breezing by Quinn with the dangerous intent curling around his shoulders in a teasing caress.

“Come,” was the simple bark of an order, and Quinn jolted his feet into motion, hands sliding from his back to his sides as he went to keep up with the gliding, predatory gait of his Chiss lord in disguise, the movements of his hips and light tread of his toes the very same of those as Sarvoice as she dominated over Sobrik’s dusty streets like a silent cloud of death. Even the air around him was the same- all except the lightsabers. Sarvoice, Quinn knew from her time on Balmorra, had a double-bladed weapon, to which she occasionally swapped out for duel-wielding. She had two today, just like the Chiss’ own that were strapped to his thighs to minimize the tapping like they would have in his usual armor.

He said little during their trip, never breaking character even when he walked up and activated the lightsaber through a gangster who refused to get out of their way and continued on without a misstep. It made Quinn remind himself multiple times that this wasn’t exactly the deadly assassin that was the Pureblood, only to help quell the shake in his left hand. His right remained steady as he kept it on his blaster, ready to use it if necessary, but Sarvoice-acting Zivilus was just like _her_ \- a herald of death and leaving ruin in her wake.

Setsyn turned out to a slaver, her words as slippery as the Hutts that ruled over the sector as soon as the Exchange thugs who tried to impede her operations were swiftly executed where they stood before they could try to trade words. Quinn eyed the woman with barely-hidden distaste as she offered no amount of discern of saddling up to the disguised Chiss and underhand flirt between breaths of their task.

“Your tongue will be better use between your teeth,” not-Sarvoice replied once the woman was done and the Sith saying very little as Sarvoice always did. Curt and silent.

Setsyn did not looked put out by it, instead bowing her head with an “of course,” with some other innuendo in mind. Possibly having her tongue elsewhere, no doubt, judging from the curl of her lips.

Quinn had to suppress the urge to wrinkle his nose as not-Sarvoice turned heel and silently glided out of the room full of caged, hopeless slaves, Setsyn’s eyes following after the curvatures of the Sith’s buttocks.

He had to suppress another urge, this time a shudder, when he felt the same eyes observing _him_ as he followed his lord out. He didn’t want to think about where she had been prior.

He used the time on the taxis between locales to catch himself up to the mission, left in the dark for the most part. Sarvoice had, at some point, forwarded the mission overview to him, possibly with the thought that Quinn would be responsible enough to handle such sensitive information, or that Zivilus would never bother to read it. Either way, he was secretly thankful as he greedily soaked in the information, mind whirling at the thought of taking down Dellocon in the same sweep of knocking Lord Rathari off his feet. Lord Rathari had a large base of operations on Nar Shaddaa, with many supporters and sympathizers lurking in the shadows. They would need far more than just two people, his gut was telling him, but a subtle glance over towards the disguised Sith he decided to keep his mouth shut.

While Zivilus confused him, Sarvoice was _dangerous_. And Zivilus while _acting_ as Sarvoice proved too much of a risk to ask, especially when the man displayed so much _skill_ and unconcern in the people he was killing.

Was this part of the act, or was this the true side of the Chiss Sith?

Death continued to follow their wake as not-Sarvoice fought, defeated, and promptly beheaded the Zabrak Apprentice of Lord Rathari’s, Girik, before the Hutt Cartel without uttering more than perhaps three sentences. Short, curt, not relenting to amuse the man’s taunting and then fury-infused lunged when he simply deemed the Zabrak too low to address directly, which simply infuriated the other alien into an attack, much to the Hutts’ amusement. The Chiss’ actions were smooth, a spider in the dark as they baited and then attacked with blinding precision.

The other apprentice did not know what he was getting into.

Quinn did not even have to pull out the kolto.

With nothing else on Setsyn’s end, the pair headed back to the spaceport, the nightlife fading into the early morning dawn. Quinn kept the respectable five and a half steps behind the Sith as he prowled through the crowds and into the private hangar, no apparent fatigue in his walk.

As soon as the _Empyrean_ came into view, however, Quinn immediately noted the change in the gait. The walk became wider, the footsteps more planted and firm than the feather-light sway. The shoulders were starting to slump, as if deflating upon himself as hands reached up and wrenched the helm off in a splay of wild hair as soon as the Chiss’ feet stepped inside the _Empyrean’s_ threshold.

“Hi- oh _shit_ you’re hot,” Vette stopped and stared, grease smeared across her cheeks and hands as she stood in front of the engine room doorway, gaping at Zivilus.

The Chiss wordlessly dumped the helmet onto her head, causing her to squawk as it got stuck on her lekku while he continued to drag his feet like he was wading through mud into the main space and promptly collapsed onto one of the many seats, face buried into the cushion.

“Dude, you can’t sleep here,” Vette stated once she had gotten the helmet off her head and deposited it onto a table, going over to prod the Sith, to little effect. The steady rise and fall of breath was a key sign that Zivilus had- immediately- fallen asleep once he was in a prone position.

“What a _baby_ \- can’t even stay awake longer than 18 hours,” the Twi’lek rolled her eyes, but her words held teasing affection as she ruffled the man’s wild helmet-hair. “Do I even want to know what you two were doing that required him to dress up like a girl?”

“It is Sith business,” Quinn replied, but couldn’t find the means to make his words clipped as he stared at the Chiss with more confusion and questions than when he walked off the _Empyrean_ that afternoon.

“Yeah, no, I don’t need to know,” Vette decided on as she breezed Quinn by. “Just let him sleep- he’ll probably try to eat your head off if you wake him now.”

It left Quinn in the main room alone with a sleeping Chiss Sith, still in armor tads too small for him to be wearing long term. The oppressive, nerve-wracking sense of danger creeping along the back of his neck had dissipated like a bad dream as soon as Zivilus had stopped pretending to be Sarvoice, leaving Quinn feeling… well… nothing.

It was strange, Quinn realized with growing clarity, that Zivilus didn’t give the air of danger like Sarvoice _or_ Darth Baras, or any of the other Sith that Quinn had the misfortune of meeting. It had to be something the Force did to them, something they displayed so that _everyone_ would know what they were. He knew personally how dangerous and deadly Sith were, and dark memories always threatened to creep into his dreams and inopportune moments.

But while he stood here with Zivilus, fast asleep sprawled across the seats, Quinn thought back and noted that across the days of travel between Balmorra to Nar Shaddaa, he never felt the sense of danger from the man outside of when he was acting as Sarvoice. He wasn’t too sure if he could even count that- the Chiss himself even tried to let Quinn know that _these actions were not his own_.

It ultimately left Quinn knowing less about Zivilus than he had when he first the Chiss, covered in dust and blood and collapsing into unconsciousness into his arms. Was the man’s skill of impersonating Sarvoice a Force skill or simply something he could do because he was a good actor? Were his actions so far prior to his pretending were true to his character or false? Sarvoice did not have a high opinion of the man himself, but he had skills she was grudgingly impressed by to where she _required_ his help in pulling the wool over Baras’ eyes.

He jumped a little as Zivilus startled him by shifting and rolling onto his side, face towards the back cushions of the seat as his knees bent slightly towards his chest and arms tucking inward. He seemed entirely unbothered by the way the armor and lightsabers were most certainly digging into his skin uncomfortably as he went still and quiet apart from his soft breathing through parted lips.

Hesitating for a moment, Quinn forced his feet to move towards the bunkroom, taking the folded sheets from one of the spare beds before carrying them back out into the main space to drape them over the sleeping Sith. The chill of the hanger was starting to creep into the docked starship, and while the Chiss was from the icy world of Csilla, the man was going to wake up sore and uncomfortable enough from the armor to have another thing to fret over, and Quinn didn’t have the nerve to try to remove some of the armor pieces without disturbing him.

Zivilus did not stir as the blankets were draped over him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn gets lost in thought, Vette makes bad decisions in the morning, and yet another Sith makes an appearance. 
> 
> He really should've just stayed in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the blocks of inactivity. 
> 
> I spent five weeks out in the field for a class and picked up this story again due to the lack of internet access. I have also re-re-picked up this game so that I can get this silly blue alien's butt off Nar Shaddaa, but that's technicalities, I'm sure. 
> 
> I actually have at least the next two or so chapters planned out- not written, mind you- enough to get these nerds off Nar Shaddaa and continue on with the story. 
> 
> In the meantime, please enjoy this chapter- and some minor edits to previous chapters! Nothing ground-breaking, but I had noticed some errors while reading through and they were juuuust big enough to irk me enough to fix them. 
> 
> Thank you!

Zivilus was gone.

Quinn stared at the vacated spot on the seat where he had last seen his lord the previous evening, first uncomprehending and then lowering his head so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose.

The infuriating and confounding Chiss had ran off with the borrowed armor set from Darth Baras’ other apprentice, leaving nothing but a flimsy next to the pot of heavenly made caf like every morning so far, stating only one word in oddly ornate writing:

 _Wait_.

Wait for _what_ , exactly? It was incredibly vague, and Quinn could think of a million reasons why Zivilus shouldn’t have gone off gallivanting through Nar Shaddaa without him- or, if he was being desperate, Vette. He was going toe to toe with a Sith Lord for stars’ sake, without a medic and without backup, as Vette was still fast asleep in the crew quarters. Even if he did know Zivilus’ typical fighting style, it didn’t resolve the fact that the Chiss was a mere apprentice, and Lord Rathari was far older and experienced in the ways of the Sith. It would be disastrous if things came to head without proper support.

Quinn sighed as he settled into the empty space, mug in one hand and datapad in the other. The cushion felt oddly cold, but he was quick to toss that observation aside. It could have been hours since Zivilus departed the _Empyrean_ on his own, and while he could confirm his suspicions by checking the boarding logs, he decided against it. Zivilus was his lord, and the Chiss could do as he pleased.

Taking a sip of warm, divine caf, Quinn flicked on his datapad, scanning over the recent messages and notifications. Commander Lamai requested a report on Corporal Hilio for a transfer opportunity. Quinn had nothing but good things to say, brisk but generous as he thought of the communications officer from his own sphere of influence in Sobrik. He sent the report off with a silent prayer that he was giving the Corporal the chance to escape Balmorra’s hellscape. That man was far too damn good to remain wasting away on that dusty, war-torn planet.

A message from Captain Jarrow consisted of the daily body count, a habit he seemed to have picked up now that Quinn was off Balmorra to keep the Lieutenant in the loop, since records of the losses tended to fall at the wayside when it came to that particular planet and its blacklisted occupants. At the end he left a dry, but witty note about sending him pictures, to which Quinn couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he wrote out a short response in gratitude for the report.

Even Jarrow knew that Quinn didn’t allow himself to have time to do something so… tourist-y. He had been far too busy struggling in vain to do something, _anything_ to please Darth Baras enough to get him off that blasted waste of floating rock, and now he was familiarizing himself with the ship around him and it’s… peculiar crew consisting of two blue aliens, a droid, and himself.

Although… Quinn had a feeling that Zivilus would give him leave of absence if he simply asked for it without a second thought. Not that he would agree to do so- there was already some sort of planned R&R in Kaas City once their business on Nar Shaddaa was completed. It was all he needed, really.

A note with an attachment from Takariva (how in the Emperor’s name did that Cathar managed to get his contact information?) caused the caf that he had been trying to drink to almost escape through his nose, forcibly setting the mug down as he choked and coughed to clear his airways. Right, well, _she_ was as subtle as a durasteel wall, and it was _far_ too early to see pictures of _anything_.

She must be doing it to get a rise out of him, he was sure, and it had certainly caused a reaction, as the Imperial was quick to discard the message permanently and block any further messages from that source despite knowing that, somehow, the Cathar would find ways to contact him regardless.

He didn’t need to wake up every morning seeing that much fur, thank you very much. She needed a far better hobby.

The rest were notifications from Imperial databases and networks- the only things that had kept him in contact with the rest of the universe during his service on Balmorra. A new regulation regarding paid leave went into effect; Tatooine was under its seasonal (if you could give a desert planet seasons) storm, and so a travel advisory was in effect; some news about the ongoing talks with Voss (i.e.: nowhere fast); and a small skirmish between an Imperial ship and an unyielding transport ship that had been crossing into Imperial Space was a victory for the Empire, although no information on what or who were on the ship was given.

All in all, things were rather quiet. It made Quinn uneasy at the thought, like watching an oncoming storm but not knowing where the upper air currents would take it or what sort of precipitation it would bring.

The datapad settled onto his knee as the Lieutenant took a slow sip of his caf, lukewarm now but still radiant. He would have to write a report to Darth Baras soon about his observations on the Sith’s Apprentice, but Quinn was still as befuddled over Zivilus now as he had been when he first heard the Chiss in the Wandering Frequency so many days ago.

The man was an actor- in theatrics, he said so himself. He could pretend to be Sarvoice like he had been raised to do so, flawless and terrifyingly effective. Yet the man that Quinn knew from the day he fainted in his arms to when he wrapped his arm around the officer’s waist at the cantina, Zivilus wasn’t like Sarvoice. Cut from completely different cloth in a different factory worlds apart.

Perhaps the man could act, perhaps he had been acting all this time, but the way he collapsed into the seat after playing pretend for hours, Quinn couldn’t help but get the inkling that Zivilus he knew on the ship was genuine, absently bringing his free hand up to touch his bicep where the silken scarf was wrapped, hidden under the sleeve of his uniform.

A very tactile fool of an alien, Zivilus may be, but an honest one. The almost too-warm touch of his hands, the quirk of his lips, the way he could both walk as smooth and agile as a prowling nexu and trip over his own feet and run into doorways in nearly the same moment- they seemed too natural in Quinn’s memories when he closed his eyes, the scent of the foreign-spiced caf tickling his nose. All wrapped up in a soft flush of purple across faintly freckled blue cheeks.

And then there was the time before Quinn even knew who he was talking to, and vice versa, when without a question as to who or why, Zivilus had dropped everything to help some wet-behind-the-ear Privates and Captain Jarrow from what would have been a massacre. No Sith Quinn knew would have ever stopped what they had been doing and deviate to assist “weaker” folks unless it justified a mean of their own, and yet this strange Chiss with the faint scar across his brow had happily waltzed in and personally carried a soldier out of a certain death from the Resistance without asking for compensation despite being injured. No, at that time he had been more concerned over Quinn’s apparent lack of rest.

On top of that, he invites Quinn- a man he _knew_ to be on Darth Baras’ to-do list onto his ship instead of officially tying the loose end for his Master as ordered, and proceeded to make him caf that he would do ridiculous things to taste just one more time every morning without fail now that he knew that Quinn favored it.

Yet the man, this infuriating alien, was a _Sith_. Why was he so confusingly nice? And why couldn’t Quinn judge him accordingly? He should be grudgingly tolerable, perhaps even secretly despised, if not for the Sith rank then the alien heritage. But Quinn couldn't bring himself to think and feel any less of the blasted Chiss than a worrying growing sense of confused fondness. 

Something light bounced off his forehead and into the dredges at the bottom of his mug. The sudden contact made him blink back into the present, chasing away his previous ponderings to instead glare over at a sleepy but smug looking Vette as she took a noisy slurp from her own mug.

“Don’t think so hard. It’s too early.”

“ _Some_ people have work to do,” Quinn snipped back, unamused as he fished a sweetener wrapper from his mug to dispose of properly. Why would anyone ruin the delicate taste of this wonderfully brewed coffee with _anything_ was beyond him, but they were quickly noted as detestable heathens.

It wasn’t like Vette was very high on his list of likeable fellows anyway, although it wasn't particularly a long list either. Tolerated, perhaps, but few he actually liked. So yes, he didn't like her. Not one bit. Even if she wasn't even old enough to order alcohol on some planets and he had grown to annoyingly tolerate the Twi'lek and her thousands of personal, prodding questions. Or how she tapped her tools onto whatever metal surface she could find as she looked over her work, or how she made that half-bewildered, half pretense outrage whenever he stopped her from tapping by reaching out and swiping the offending object from her hand while she wasn't paying attention, having done so more times on the way to Nar Shaddaa that he started doing it absently without even bothering to scold her for making such a ruckus. Or how whenever he was in the middle of scolding her that slicing into Imperial records was  _illegal_ , and  _no_ , he wasn't going to let her read his own files even if she said "pretty please" that he kept thinking back to her own medical file that told too much for a girl who was only seventeen, no matter if she was an alien.

...He hated her. He was sure of it.

Vette rolled her eyes, stifling a yawn as she padded over and sat down onto the holoterminal in front of Quinn, caf gurgling in the mug as she sucked it in.

“Did Z run off on his own again?”

“Again?” The question escaped Quinn before he could catch himself, immediately pulling a face and busying himself with setting his datapad somewhere where it wouldn’t be in the way accidentally as Vette immediately perked up and jumped at the slip.

“Oh, now you’re asking _me_ questions. I’ve upgraded,” the Twi’lek snarked with a lopsided grin, swirling the cup in her hand to stir up the sugary sludge that was more than likely at the bottom.

“Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

Vette snorted into her caf as she brought it up to drink from.

“He’s always trotting off whenever there’s some dark, Sithy business to sniff out that he doesn’t want us to get into,” she said, although more so to her cup than to Quinn. “You know when it’s going to get messy when he does that. Better pack up and sit tight. He’ll either come stumbling back in here bleeding or call us out to help so he can start bleeding. Although that’ll probably not be for a few hours, so you got all day to sit around and do… Stuffy Imperial Things.”

Quinn had opened his mouth to refute that his work was _not_ just “Stuffy Imperial Things” and in fact very important when the holoterminal that Vette was sitting on chirped, startling the girl so badly she dropped her mug to the floor with a splash of caf and a clatter of reinforced ceramic as she leaped off the terminal like it had bitten her. She hissed something that was most definitely very rude in Huttese as she slapped at the panel, Quinn having a half-strangled word in his throat as he partially rose from his seat in a vain attempt to stop her from accepting the call just as she smacked the _Accept_ button.

“Who the _fuck_ calls at-“

Speech failed the Twi’lek as the holographic figure flickered to life and loomed over them above the center of the terminal, casting a soft glow through the morning-dimmed lighting in a pale blue. Vette’s own blue skin had turned several shades paler, eyes wide in shock and mouth half-open while no words left her throat. Quinn couldn’t help but stare too, frozen in place in his partial-lunge, the spilled caf slowly creeping towards his boots.

The figure was dressed like one of Alderaan’s nobles, with sleek tunic and trousers with a long ornate cape attached at the shoulders and a thick belt looped around the waist in a fashion statement than a practical use. Yet there were several things Quinn noticed at once that were off with the attire of the politician and squabbling noble families he had seen in the reports. There were very faint stitches that weren’t part of the original design, the blue of the holo seeming a bit off in the chest and torso area that gave him the sudden, horrifying impression that they were bloodstains that hadn’t quite been washed out completely judging from the figure’s posture not suggesting any current injuries. The tunic didn’t quite fit the shoulders, made for someone with a broader width than their own, making the already billowing sleeves seem a bit too excessive. A cowl had been sewn around the back of the high collar, setting in place a horned mask and ornate ridges most familiar to that of the Pureblood Sith that extended down most of the face, only curling down around the sides of the mouth to leave the lips and chin exposed.

The lips curled into a smile, all sharp teeth as the figure spoke.

“Am I interrupting?”

The figure, the _woman_ , had the voice of a lilting purr, the accent not of a traditional Pureblood Sith, nor any accent of Imperial or Republic origin that he knew of. It carried a tone of one that was quick to switch to sarcasm and wit but demanded attention in the same breath- a venomous serpent in the grass. Her head tilted just a breath to the side, the corners of her mouth still upturned in a polite but instinctively dangerous smile. It sent a shiver down his spine as if someone had poured the Hoth Daiquiri that Zivilus was so fond of down his collar instead of down his throat.

It was then, Quinn realized terribly belatedly, that there was the familiar shape of a lightsaber peeking out on her right hip, hooked along the belt that had also been modified for her use.

“N-no!” Vette coughed, quickly straightening up. The motion caused the Imperial Officer to follow suit, smoothing out his uniform with a quick tug at the bottom hems before falling into parade rest, hands clasped behind his back as Vette scrambled, more nervous than she had been surrounded by Imperial soldiers on Balmorra. “Not at all! Just hanging out, doing nothing! Nope!”

The _Sith_ hummed a low, absently amused sound as her head turned away from the Twi’lek to instead regard Quinn himself. The blank eyes of the mask bore into him in the sense of staring right through him, rendering him down into nothing. He had to curl his fingers around his hand to keep it from trembling behind his back. This woman wasn’t like Sarvoice, like Zivilus, or even Darth Baras. This Sith stood at a level far beyond the reach of Baras himself. She made Quinn feel very small, that he had never met a true Sith before until this very moment, and he had grossly underestimated everything about them, and that was after he had been acquainted with several during his court marshal.

“I don’t believe we have had the pleasure of meeting,” the Sith mused, the slight tilt of her head righting in a bow, a hand being placed over her chest as the other curled around her back in a form that reminded him far more of one of lower standing towards another of higher regard. It only set Quinn’s teeth on edge as he attempted to lock away his emotions to keep his face smooth as stone. “I am Darth Occlus. You are Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, I presume.”

It wasn’t a question, the lips still curled as if she knew something he didn’t. But the introduction put light onto why Vette was so nervous, her anxious swallow loud in his ears.

Darth Occlus… previously the Apprentice of Darth Thanaton. He had been privy to Darth Baras’ ranting about that very day, not even five years ago. He hadn't seen Baras so passionately angry over something since one of his previous Apprentices died en-route to Balmorra and Baras felt as if it had been Quinn's fault for the matter. That day made Quinn fear the far and few times Darth Baras ever bothered to contact him through the holo, if he ever bothered to contact him at all. The ghosting presence of the vice grip around his neck still made him inhale sharply to remind himself he could still breathe. He lucked out that day as Baras seemed... quite out of sorts in his fury, although Quinn quietly believed that the entire call had been a lapse in judgement on Baras' part and never mentioned it to the Sith, as the man rarely ever spoke about the ongoings of the Sith, especially to someone Non-Sensitive such as himself.

Still, it gave him a chance to peer into the window of politics that few outside the Sith get to learn.

One of the youngest Sith to rule on the Dark Council, Occlus seized power by eliminating her master, just like she had removed her first master from the equation as well- some lower nondescript Lord, according to Baras. Darth Thanaton had swooped in and stole her before Darth Zash could sink her claws into her as soon as she caught wind of the knowledgeable apprentice free from the shackles of a Lord less worthy of her. Baras loved to listen in on the internal conflicts between his fellow Force-Users and use it to his own advantage, especially ones who outrank him. Blackmail was seemingly very common amongst the Sith.

But apparently Occlus had come out of left field with a vengeance after falling off Baras' radar- Baras had written her off, although Quinn didn’t know the exact reasons why- but now a Dark Lord was dead, and Darth Occlus rose in his place over the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge and the Imperial Reclamation Service. Baras had been quite bitter over the fact that some “young welp” had shot past him and thrived in a position of power while he treaded in caution below his own master on the Dark Council, but Quinn couldn’t help but grudgingly admire the tenacity of the young woman, even if she was a Sith and all that it entailed.

Quinn forced himself to steady his shaking hand behind his back, a breath to soothe his nerves while his face remained impassive as he bowed in returned. “I am indeed. Lieutenant Quinn, at your service, my lord.”

That half-amused smile was playing at the corners of her lips again. He wasn’t sure what he did that was funny, but knew not to comment and was quick to push the thought aside.

“You are just the person I need,” Occlus mused, the smile still on the exposed portion of her face. “You and your lord have met Captain Takariva.” That hadn’t been a question either. “I need you to acquire the object given and bring it to my office in Dromund Kaas. Zivilus will know of the situation.”

The expressionless mask turned to the side towards Vette. The Twi’lek froze with an awkward, nervous grin. Quinn gave Vette a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing about the wonder of what in the stars was going on between the Sith and Vette. Most likely Occlus put the girl in her place at one point and now Vette had a healthy fear of the Sith. At least it was one Sith- she didn’t have a single shred of self-preservation when it came to Baras, and especially not Zivilus- not that Zivilus posed a threat to anyone but himself in most situations while on board the _Empyrean_. 

Occlus merely hummed and faced back to Quinn again, silently dismissing the Twi’lek. “I shall await your arrival, Lieutenant.”

The call ended before Quinn could agree to the task given to him, the words stuck in his throat along with his breath. Vette slumped against the terminal as soon as the holo flickered out of existence, as if all the strings holding her up had been unceremoniously snipped.

“That lady gives me the creeps,” Vette shuddered, picking herself up off the paneling and rubbing her arms as if she was freezing. Quinn kept his own thoughts to himself, but a part of him silently agreed with Vette’s words as he eased his fingers from the death grip behind his back. Occlus may have been rather cordial, but there was something about her that put him on edge far more than any other Sith he had the misfortune of meeting, and that included Darth Baras. It made him uneasy to think that in a short time, he would be forced to face the woman alone in Dromund Kaas.

“Good luck, Starch Pants,” she added giving Quinn what could’ve been a comforting pat on the shoulder. “You’ll need it.”

“…My name’s not “Starch Pants”,” was all Quinn could manage to utter. Vette gave him what could only be described as a sympathetic grimace before she muttered something about forgetting the entire event that happened far too early in the morning before making her way to disappear into the engine room, most certainly going back to tinkering with things that didn’t need to be fixed.

Back in solitude, Quinn took the moment to decompress, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but now he had an appointment with a Sith who outranked even Baras. He didn’t know what to expect, but from Vette’s reaction, this had happened to her as well, and an icy pool of dread was growing in his gut.

Perhaps Zivilus would shed some light onto the situation, he pondered, lowering his hands and rolling back his shoulders as Two-Vee came clanking out of storage and gasping about the mess that Vette had left behind with her spilled caf. Zivilus wouldn’t sass him, at least, for asking questions.

A part of him didn't want to go, but he had little other choice now. Zivilus was below Darth Occlus, and what Sith wanted, they got.

Quinn just hoped the end of the line wouldn’t be so soon.


End file.
